


Graves into Gardens

by ikindaneedahero



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Dark Tom Riddle, Death Eaters, Good Malfoy Family (Harry Potter), Light Dom/sub, Loss of Virginity, Luna Lovegood is a Good Friend, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Sane Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle is Not Voldemort, abraxas malfoy is a marshmallow, deputy minister tom riddle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:15:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24646279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikindaneedahero/pseuds/ikindaneedahero
Summary: Tom Riddle capitalizes on the tragedy that is the brightest witch of her age scrubbing tables like a house elf in Diagon Alley.
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Rodolphus Lestrange, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 215
Kudos: 582





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this thought hit me and wouldn't leave. I don't think this will be super long, but we have a fun ride ahead and tags to add. enjoy!

“I must be going soft,” the Malfoy boy muttered. “It’s even uncomfortable for me to watch.”

“I’m relieved to see you have a sliver of a heart somewhere in there, mate,” Tom watched the lanky Nott boy say.

“What’s revealed Mr. Malfoy’s heart?” Tom asked curiously, unable to help himself.

Both boys jumped up and it took a lot of effort for Tom to not roll his eyes at their show of respect.

“Deputy Minister Riddle,” Draco Malfoy said with a smile. “We were just discussing a former classmate of ours, nothing too interesting.”

Theodore Nott chimed in, “Brightest chit in our year, and we saw her cleaning the loo and clearing tables last night at Magique. Makes you wonder how committed our esteemed minister actually is to integrating muggleborns.”

Tom’s interest was piqued the more they shared. He kept a mild expression on his face.

“The professors salivated over how Granger was supposed to be the next minister, and now no one will even hire her to file their papers. Funny day when Vincent bloody Crabbe gets a ministry job over the only person to score perfectly on their N.E.W.T.s since you, Deputy Minister.”

“She’s a muggleborn, you say?? Tom asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Sure is, she came into Hogwarts having memorized every spell in our curriculum. A bit of a bushy-haired menace, but she at least deserved a chance,” Nott said with a twist of his lips.

“Oh well,” Draco said as he stood up from his desk. “Time to head home and face the music. Mother has decided it’s time for me to get married and keeps inviting girls to dinner.”

“Sounds awful,” Nott said with a wicked smirk.

“Couldn’t be more awful than having to marry Pansy, mate,” Draco said, yelping at the stinging hex shot to his backside.

“Staying much longer, sir?” Theo asked, turning back into the proper young heir the world expected him to be.

“Not tonight,” the older man said. “Good evening, Mr. Nott. Give your father my best.”

Theo nodded, “Of course, sir. Goodnight.” 

\--

“May I offer you a seat at the bar?” the mousy hostess said.

Tom gritted his teeth, “I would prefer a table for one, as I requested.”

The girl squeaked. “Of course, sir. Right this way.”

Tom casually scanned the restaurant, eyes tracking the curly haired girl who was currently cleaning a table by hand while its inhabitants watched on.

“If you’d have cleaned our table the right way the first time, we could’ve been eating our dinner already,” Mafalda Hopkirk, a uppity woman said loudly, drawing eyes to the table.

“I apologize ma’am,” the scrubbing girl said quietly. Tom could tell her face was bright red from his vantage point.

“Much better,” the Improper Use of Magic Office chief said with a snooty look.

“You’re welcome,” the girl muttered as she walked away.

Tom enjoyed his dinner as much as he could while watching his colleagues treat one of their own kind as little more than a house elf. Most dining establishments had transitioned to using house elves for service, making it clear that most patrons saw the slip of a muggleborn as beneath their manners.

The man made his way to the bar for a nightcap, the decision solidified when he saw the girl scrubbing down glasses by hand.

“Do you think they truly believe hand washed dishes and tables are cleaner, or they just like giving you a hard time?”

The girl’s caramel colored eyes shot up. She was quite pretty, even with a sweat streaked forehead and purple bags under her eyes.

“I’m happy to serve our customers, sir,” the girl said, looking down once again at the wine glass she was running a towel over.

“Glad to hear it,” Tom said with a smile as the girl walked into his trap. “Why don’t you join me for a drink after your shift?”

Hermione’s already translucent skin grew more pale.

Tom realized that look for what it was. “I’m no lecher, madam. We can even go to the Leaky, as much as it pains me to patronize such a dirty establishment.”

“All right,” Hermione said quietly. “I’m off in thirty.”

“I’ll be waiting here,” the man said with the tip of a glass.

Tom stood silently at the front door of the restaurant thirty minutes later, patiently waiting for the girl.

“My name is Hermione Granger,” the girl offered almost immediately, clearly unnerved by walking in silence.

“Pleasure to meet you, Hermione. My name is Tom Riddle.”

The girl let out a laugh, “I know who you are, sir. I applied to work in your office.”

Tom let out a soft noise at that, genuinely surprised.

“When was this, Miss Granger?”

She hummed thoughtfully, “May, I believe. There was an advert in the Prophet while I was still in school.”

“I normally handle my own hiring, but was otherwise occupied with the currency legislation that had been passing through the Wizengamot.”

Hermione looked over with narrowed eyes, “The Ministry’s hiring office took over, I presume.”

Tom found himself liking the girl’s untampable snarkiness against his better judgment.

“Indeed.”

“If I may ask… how is your new secretary?”

Tom snorted, “Miss Brown is a fool, if I can speak plainly.”

The girl scoffed. “Lavender Brown spent more time in broom closets with her skirt raised than she did actually attending class.”

“Miss Brown is also soon to be back on daddy’s dime.”

“That bad?” Hermione mused, a small smirk playing on her lips at the man’s muggle joke.

“There are surely worse, but there are better options. Would you be interested in the position, Miss Granger?”

“Me?” the girl asked, flipping back to the meek persona she’d shed for a few minutes. “I’m muggleborn.”

“And I’m not an idiot like the rest of my colleagues who prize surnames over ability. Accept the offer and show them just who they passed over.”

Tom held up a finger when the girl started to speak.

“Think on it, Miss Granger. I have a feeling that Miss Brown will be out of a job tomorrow, so I’d prefer if you come to the Ministry by close of business to accept.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for this opportunity,” Hermione said, a wet gleam in her eyes.

“No, Hermione,” Tom replied, staring deeply into her eyes. “It’s you I ought to be thanking for this opportunity.”

The man appreciated the comfortable silence that followed, heading to the refurbished Gaunt Manor after ensuring the girl made it safely to the Floo.

He let out an exhausted sigh as he stepped into the perfectly warm tub, nodding at his favorite elf Raffy in gratitude. Tomorrow, he’d move another step closer to power.

\--

“Sir, um, Mr. Riddle. Herm- there’s someone who says they are here to see you. Should I send her away?” the idiot girl that was sent up to fill in as his secretary stammered.

“Why would you do that?” the man asked, dropping his quill in exasperation. “Send her in.”

“Hello, Miss Granger,” Tom said with a smile, eyes quickly tracking over the girl’s ill-fitting dress robes. “Shut the door, girl. Those papers won’t file themselves.”

A squeak sounded before the door to Tom’s office was shut.

“Such a low bar to get hired here,” Tom muttered.

“Yet, I wasn’t suited for the 93 positions I applied for,” Hermione said with a tight smile as she sat down.

“Overlooking you is a foolish decision I’m not willing to make,” Tom replied honestly.

“I’d like to accept your offer, sir. I’ll work as long as you need and do whatever you need. I’m a soldier in your army,” the girl said with a small, embarrassed smile. “Sorry, muggle phrase.”

“One that I can appreciate,” Tom replied. He looked at the girl and saw her raw, extremely raw potential, and knew she’d be much more than a soldier in his army. She would be his queen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This just keeps coming. The atmosphere in America is stifling right now and writing for fun is an outlet for me. Stay safe and healthy, my friends.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! I wanted to get this up tonight, but I’ll read through for edits in the morning. Review and let me know your thoughts! Thanks so much to everyone who has read so far.
> 
> PS: There are influences of American politics in here, but we don't have much to go off of with the Wizengamot so I'm making things up myself!

“Mione, I don’t know why you’re in such a strop,” Ron said with a red face as he raced after the girl.

“You embarrassed me, Ronald!” she replied, storming towards the Burrow’s apparition point.

“Everything I said was true!”

Hermione stopped and turned around.

“I don’t need cleaning tips from your mother, and if I did, a full family dinner wouldn’t be the place I asked for them!”

“You’re the one who’s been complaining about cleaning tables! Maybe it’s time to look for another job,” Ron replied. Hermione couldn’t help the repulsion she’d begun to feel towards the redhead since graduating, his boyish charm morphing into pureblood stupidity.

“Not that you’ve asked once about my search for employment, but I’ve accepted another job!”

Ron smiled dopily. “That’s great, Mione! Where at?”

“The Ministry,” she sniffed haughtily, eyes looking towards the apparition point. All she wanted was to curl up with her cat in her too small, too damp flat.

The redhead curled his lips. “You’d rather clean the Ministry than Magique? I didn’t figure you’d want Malfoy and the likes to see you cleaning up after them every day.”

Hermione flushed with rage and embarrassment, “I’m not doing janitorial work at the Ministry, Ronald! Contact me when you’ve gained an ounce of empathy.”

The muggleborn let out a shriek of rage when she landed in her disgusting flat, wanting to curse Ron Weasley until there was nothing left of him.

She looked down at a meowing Crookshanks, the half-kneazle laying on the threadbare couch with slow blinking eyes.

“Are you hungry, Crooksie?” Hermione cooed. The cat looked at her as judgmentally as one could. “I was just asking, no need to be a prick about it.”

The cat had started to hunt his own food after Hermione graduated from Hogwarts. The orange fur ball loathed the low-quality food that she purchased, unable to cook him extravagant meals like the Hogwarts elves.

Hermione’s anger abated as she thought about the new job she’d be starting tomorrow. Her contract looked standard, and Deputy Minister Riddle seemed genuinely upset he couldn’t offer her a higher salary. The muggleborn had enough pride not to share that she’d been earning 12 galleons a week and simply thanked the man for his kind words.

Tom Riddle’s reputation preceded him, and Hermione couldn’t help but anticipate what she’d learn from the man. It’d been five months since she left Hogwarts, and there was no doubt that the wizarding bubble she’d been dropped in at 11 had popped resoundingly.

She couldn’t help but feel hurt by the gentle placations of Professor McGonogall via owl, a woman who’d told her for years that she could do anything she set her mind to. Every adult who’d smiled at her and told her she’d one day be Minister was resentfully burned into her mind; they all knew that she’d amount to nothing in their world. Not even Harry’s mother, the only mildly successful muggleborn witch that she knew of would give her the time of day. She felt childish while wallowing in her dejection, but tomorrow… tomorrow was a new day. She wouldn’t let Deputy Minister Riddle down.

\--

“Good morning, Miss Granger,” the man said as he walked into his suite of offices at 9:01am.

“Good morning, sir,” Hermione replied with an eager smile, quills and parchment already arranged perfectly on her desk. “The Prophet and Sentinel are on your desk as well as a mug of hot water with a half lemon. The cart witch said that’s your preferred order.”

Tom raised an impressed eyebrow that had Hermione blushing slightly.

“Very well, thank you Miss Granger. I find that a mug of hot water with lemon keeps my voice from going after speaking in meetings all day. Let’s go over a few items to start the day.”

Hermione followed the man after grabbing her planner and a quill, stomach tightening at the chance of either making an impression or failing. She could do this.

“What’s this?” Tom asked, eyes on the coiled book she held in her hands.

“It’s called a planner, sir. It’s a muggle invention- we don’t seem to have a wizarding alternative to keeping daily tasks sorted, so I’ve continued to use these. I can use parchment if you’d like, sir.”

“Interesting. Whatever keeps you organized suits me, Miss Granger. A consequence of keeping Miss Brown far away from my schedule meant I sabotaged myself and filled my day with back-to-back meetings. You’ll attend all of my meetings to take notes, but staff isn’t allowed in our daily department heads meeting with the minister. You’ll sort incoming correspondence and dictate the schedule during this time.”

“Yes, sir,” Hermione said, already taking notes. “How do you currently track your schedule?”

Tom laughed lightly, “An eidetic memory, not that that’s conducive to sharing my schedule with you. I’d like if you could present alternatives to me by the end of the week. I know the administrative parts of this job are not desirable, but they are necessary.”

Hermione shook her head, “You don’t have to downplay the role, sir. I’m grateful for it. The better your organizational skills, the easier it is to achieve your aims and keep you focused.”

“Quite right, Hermione. Come along now, we have a meeting with Head Auror Potter. He seems to have a problem with alcohol legislation we passed last year.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows, but remained quiet. James Potter, her friend Harry’s father, was a man who seemed to cast a stone at everyone but himself and his own. Hermione was interested to see what came of this meeting.

The girl couldn’t help but inwardly shrink at the eyes that followed her and Deputy Minister throughout the Ministry. The man was dressed in perfectly fitting robes while she was in secondhand black robes that she had to remind herself not to pull on. The man looked like a Greek god, with articles constantly being placed in Witch Weekly on his good looks and unrivaled mind, but Hermione… she was underweight and looked like she’d been bound in a dark cellar for a few weeks. The judging stares only served to make her feel even more unworthy of the role. She was grateful that she had her intelligence; it was the only way she could prove their notion of her worth wrong. A fire burned inside of her wanting to do just that.

“Deputy Minister Riddle, welcome. Head Auror Potter is waiting for you,” Roger Davies said with a smarmy look, standing up from his desk as though he were more than a glorified people mover. “May I get you a beverage?”

“No. Miss Granger, would you like something?” the man asked, ignoring the way the desk auror stiffened at being asked to serve the muggleborn.

“I’m set as well, thank you sir.” Hermione replied, not turning to look at the former Ravenclaw.

“Miss, I can show you to our waiting area,” the man said, drawing an icy glare from Tom that made the unworthy feeling in Hermione’s stomach thaw just a bit.

“If I required a waiting area for Miss Granger, I would’ve requested one. Now we’re late, if you could show me to Head Auror Potter’s office.”

“Of course, sir,” the suitably chastened brunet replied quietly as he sped walked over to a heavy wood door and knocked once before opening.

“Ah, Tom! Come in,” James Potter’s voice called.

“Head Auror Potter,” Tom replied, holding the door open for Hermione as she walked into the room. The girl didn’t let the man’s professional greeting go unnoticed. She’d never seen Tom with Mr. Potter’s normal crowd, and this allowed her to paint a better mental story of the man’s relationships.

“Hermione?” the bespectacled man asked with a confused expression. The girl was grateful to have Tom chime in once again on her behalf and promised to think through the fluttery feeling she now knew came when the man took care of her.

“Ah, you already know Miss Granger. I’m glad to have her on board as my assistant.”

The Potter man’s face went through a range of emotions before he landed on surprisingly pleased.

“Last I knew you were working janitorial at Magique. I’m sure you’ll find this much more suitable. Good for you, girl.”

Hermione looked down with a blush, knowing she’d cry or scream if she tried to speak. She missed Tom’s eyes flashing in anger as she avoided eye contact with anyone while shuffling into the room.

“How can I help you today?” Tom asked as he sat down.

“Last March, you championed the measure to lower the drinking age in the Wizengamot. On behalf of the DMLE, we ask that you think about leading a charge to overturn the measure.”

Hermione kept her quill poised over parchment, but waited to hear Tom speak before beginning to write. After reading as much as she had about the man, she was eager to see his presence in the room where it happened.

“Why?”

James swallowed before glancing down at the parchment in front of him. From her vantage point, Hermione could tell it was covered in talking points and statistics. “In the 20 months since this legislation was passed, there has been a 43 percent uptick in aurors called to Hogsmeade during the school year. 31 percent of inebriated witches and wizards stopped by our aurors across the country are 17-years-old. 31 percent compared to being .5 percent of our population.”

“What, pray tell, does the DMLE think a year difference would make?” Tom asked, legs casually crossed as he stared at the man.

“They’ll be out of Hogwarts and have joined the workforce at 18. We believe they’ll feel the duty to act responsibly if their job is on the line.”

“Did previous data back this belief up?”

“26 percent of inebriated witches and wizards stopped in 1996 were 18.”

“So a statistical difference that falls within a reasonable margin of error is cause to overturn legislation that provides legal adults the right to drink?”

The man’s face turned red much like Hermione had seen Harry’s do countless times over the years.

“Hermione’s a muggle, tell him! Americans are adults at 18 and can’t drink until 21 because their government doesn’t trust them.”

The girl coughed, “Pardon me, sir, but I’m not a muggle. I’m a witch. And actually, MACUSA followed our MoM’s lead and lowered the drinking age from 21 to 18, which is their coming of age.”

James shot his hand out flippantly, “Muggle, muggleborn, you know what I meant. This is all beside the point- I’ll have no choice but to raise the issue myself if you don’t take the lead, Tom.”

The man stood up and Hermione stopped mid-sentence to do the same.

“A pleasure as always,” Tom said as he walked out of the man’s office without waiting for a reply. He didn’t need it, Hermione thought. His point had already been made.

“Welcome to a day in my life, Miss Granger. We’re surrounded by fools who survive on little more than ego,” Tom said with a dramatic sigh as he sat behind his desk.

“No disrespect to him, sir, but… I would’ve thought he’d do his research before wasting your time with a meeting.”

Tom laughed, a short bark filling the air. “My sweet, you are so innocent yet. Men like James Potter believe the world will yield to them if only for their relative fortune and name value. It’s those like us who really hold the cards when our opponents don’t even think to pick up their hand.”

A knock sounded on the door before Hermione could reply.

“That’d be my next meeting,” Tom said as he flicked a hand lazily towards the door. Hermione was surprised to see it immediately open- wandless, nonverbal magic was something she’d only read about.

The girl couldn’t help the gasp that left her mouth as a man in the auburn Department of Mysteries robes walked in, his long brown hair tied at the nape of his neck.

Tom smiled indulgently at the girl, feeling more endeared by her with every interaction. It was a foreign feeling he both relished and rejected at the same time.

“Antonin, I’d like you to meet my new assistant, Hermione Granger,” Tom said, not standing up to greet his friend.

The girl blushed as the man kissed her knuckles. She’d spent many days at Hogwarts questioning why girls like Lavender and the Patil twins received that very gesture from their classmates, only to have it click one day. Muggleborn.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, kotyonok. My name is Antonin Dolohov.”

“I know,” Hermione said as her face blushed even darker. “I’ve read your work.”

The man raised an eyebrow, dark brown eyes warming slightly at the girl’s admission.

“Yes? Have you read my latest in this month’s Spellwork Scientia?”

The girl shook her head, “No, unfortunately I couldn’t af- get my hands on it.”

The Russian ignored her slip of tongue. “I’ll have it sent down here, and we’ll discuss if Tom decides to give you a lunch break in the near future.”

“Ah, it’s only Miss Granger’s first day. Let’s not scare her off, Antonin. After all, she’s the first person to tie my N.E.W.T results; we’re lucky to have a mind like hers on our side.”

Hermione didn’t miss that comment. “What are you working on together?”

“In good time, Miss Granger. In good time,” Tom said with a smirk before sending the girl to her desk.

\--

“Word is that you’ve hired a new secretary, Tom,” Lucius said with a small smirk.

“Asinine gossip sometimes holds truth, Lucius,” Tom replied.

Draco raised his eyebrows as he shared a look with Theo.

“You really hired Granger?” Draco asked, sharing his father’s inability to keep a question to himself and believe his way of vaguely asking precluded him from plebeian nosiness.

“Miss Granger,” Tom replied in chastisement. “If you’re speaking of Miss Hermione Granger, then yes. She’s been in my employ for a week, but I’ve been quite pleased with her work.”

“I’m glad to hear that a few months of working like a house elf doesn’t erase a mind like hers,” Theo mused.

“Whatever do you mean, Theodore?” Narcissa asked, daintily cutting her asparagus.

“Hermione Granger, the muggleborn from our year, wasn’t able to find a job. We saw her scrubbing toilets like a house elf under punishment in Diagon Alley.”

Narcissa and Bellatrix breathed in, similarly horrified.

“That’s the girl who beat your marks, my dragon?”

The boy blushed, “Yes, mother.”

“Why wouldn’t her parents pull her back into the muggle world? I wouldn’t think them that depraved to allow their daughter to suffer so,” Bellatrix said with a pout, reaching a hand out to her husband Rodolphus for comfort.

“I’m not sure, Aunt Bella,” Draco replied. “Her parents, her friends… it seems like she was all alone.”

“Dumbledore seems to be upping his claim on morally abhorrent actions toward our kind,” Rabastan offered with the roll of his eyes.

“Tom,” Bellatrix replied. “Find out who her magical guardian is. Of age or not, someone needs to be held accountable.”

“Already on it, Bella.”

“Is she amenable to our cause?” Rodolphus asked after swallowing a bite of steak, already cutting into the next piece.

“I don’t think five days of interaction is enough to indicate that, Rodolphus,” Tom replied shortly, causing the man to mutter an apology. “In the meantime, however, I’d like to learn more about her. Draco, Theo, I expect a report on her current living conditions and relationships by the end of the week.”

“Yes, sir,” the young pair replied simultaneously.

“Theo, I’d also like your betrothed to befriend Miss Granger by whatever means necessary.”

Theo bit his tongue thinking of Gryffindor’s general dislike of Pansy Parkinson. “Of course, sir. It’s an honor to serve you.”

Tom nodded from the head of the table, pleased as always to see his pawns fall into place without needing to raise his wand.

\--

Hermione jumped at the knock sounding on her office door, thankful for the years of reflexes that kept her from smearing ink across her parchment.

“Didn’t mean to cause a fright, Granger,” Pansy Parkinson said as she walked into the room, caramel color skin glowing against her trendy lilac robes.

“No worries, Miss Parkinson,” Hermione replied with a small smile. “How may I help you?”

“Drop the formalities, girl. Call me Pansy.”

“Pansy,” Hermione started again, tone marginally warmer towards a girl she’d spoken to only a handful of times in her life. “Can I assist you with something?”

“A place to rest my feet,” Pansy said as she sat on the leather couch in the front office. “Cute they may be, these turn my feet into bloody pulp everytime I wear them.”

Hermione grimaced, “There’s a muggle saying that beauty is pain. So… at least you look good?”

Pansy laughed and relaxed into the furniture. “I bloody better look beautiful when I’m risking life and limb for it. When’d you start here, Granger?”

“Hermione, please. Three weeks ago,” the girl replied with a shy smile. Pansy wanted to coo at the girl’s proud expression.

“I think you’re the only person who could last more than a day without Riddle tearing you into tiny, tear-soaked pieces.”

Hermione let out a surprised laugh. “Deputy Minister Riddle is a brilliant man. I’m grateful to have the opportunity to serve him.”

Pansy squinted her eyes at the girl in a way that Hermione had become intimately familiar with in school. It was a refrain that always left her feeling more useless than a rotten flobberworm.

“You’re brilliant, but.”

Hair. Body. Clothes. Teeth. Skin. Her mind was never enough.

“You look peaky, Hermione. Are you not taking lunch?”

Hermione swallowed her indignance at being questioned by the girl. “I’m taking lunch, Pansy. I appreciate your concern.”

The other girl rolled her hazel eyes and smirked. “Us girls got to stick together, right? Leave it to men and you’ll be a pile of bones on the ground before they notice something’s wrong.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, thinking of the obliviousness and lack of care that characterized Ron and Harry. “Absolutely right. Unless it’s their own ailment, then the entire world will be forced to weep alongside them.”

“Babies, the lot of them. Speaking of, any idea when Riddle’s meeting will end? Theo’s promised to take me shopping.”

“It should end any time now. They’re in the adjacent conference room, but left their cloaks and such in here.”

“Thank you, I’ll wait here if you don’t mind. If you do mind, I'll still wait here though.”

Hermione cracked a smile, “I don’t mind. Theodore Nott? You’re engaged, right?”

“Betrothed,” Pansy corrected with a small shake of her head. “Silly word, isn’t it? I like the sound of an engagement better, it’s much more romantic when there’s free will in the process.”

“You don’t want to marry Theodore?” Hermione questioned.

“Oh, I do now. 12-year-old Pansy wasn’t too keen on the idea, but a few trips to his Grecian summer home and things were right sorted.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows, perpetually shocked by the exorbitant wealth and lavishness that some of her fellows were born into.

“I’m glad to hear you’re in a place of acceptance now.”

Pansy’s reply was cut off by the sound of men laughing and footsteps moving towards them.

“Pans? What are you doing here?” Theodore asked quietly, pulling the leggy brunette up with a gallantly offered hand.

“I recall you promising to take me to lunch, dear,” Pansy said with a smirk that had all of the men stepping away. They had all grown up with the young Miss Parkinson, and knew that Theo had his hands full with his bride. Draco thanked the day that had seen his parents not betrothing him to the girl.

Theo smiled patiently, “I was heading to get you after this meeting.”

Pansy flipped a hand, “No skin off, I got to catch up with Riddle’s newest gatekeeper. Lucky man you are, Deputy Minister. The girl who caused Draco to set half the common room on fire our fifth year.”

The small office was filled with the amused looks of multiple Wizengamot members and a red-faced Draco.

“It was once, Pansy! Potions was my subject, I didn’t expect my uncle to give someone else a better grade than me.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow, unable to keep her mouth shut. “I’m glad to see that one leadership figure believes in meritocracy.”

The deputy minister let out a bark of laughter, “Quite right, Miss Granger. Severus would never be encumbered by matters of the heart over talent.”

Draco glowered, but kept his mouth shut.

“Speaking of talent, be sure to introduce yourself to my assistant, Miss Granger on the way out if you haven’t met her yet. Greatness is surely in her path.”

Hermione blushed slightly at the praise, stomach fluttering from the words and smile of the attractive and powerful older man as he walked into his office and shut the door.

The girl smiled politely as Lucius and Abraxas Malfoy, Thaddeus Nott, Rodolphus Lestrange and Jorund Rowle introduced themselves and pressed chaste kisses to her knuckles. She’d heard about all of the men in passing, all of them being regular faces in the Wizengamot except for Lucius, the head of Hogwarts’ Board of Governors.

“We’ll have to have you over to the manor,” Lucius said with more kindness than Hermione thought a Malfoy was capable of. “Our laboratory was updated by Severus and I’m sure he’d enjoy giving you a tour.

“I’d enjoy that, sir,” Hermione said, knowing that the ask was a pleasantry rather than an actual invitation.

“Look out for an owl,” the man said with the bow of his head.

“Sames,” Pansy said with a wink. Hermione couldn’t help but think of her as a high-class version of a Pink Lady from Grease. “Daphne’s already gone to France for the hols, I need a shopping companion.”

“Theodore not up to snuff?” Hermione asked with a raised brow, drawing a snort from Draco and amused glances from the wealthy men. It was clear the girl wasn’t aware of how their wives and daughters went wild while shopping.

Theo cut in, “I’d be honored if you accompanied my Pansy, Hermione. Your purchases would be on the Notts, of course.”

Pansy scoffed, “We aren’t even married and you’re already using bribery to get out of shopping.”

Thaddeus Nott nodded, his long grey ponytail moving along with his head. “Pansy, dear, take it from us old men. Take the galleons and spend them; don’t question the boy.”

The men were all amused at how easily Pansy was rising to Tom’s task, leaving the curly-haired muggleborn none the wiser.

“Shopping, Granger. Look for my owl,” Pansy said with a wink before taking Theo’s hand and pulling him from the office.

“I am forever grateful for whatever brain cell of yours kept you from linking me to Pansy, father,” Draco said with the shake of his head, a small, fond smile on his lips.

“Thank your mother for that, Draco. On that note, if any of you have a suitable option for the boy, send me an owl,” Abraxas Malfoy said, the man barely looking older than his own son.

Hermione regarded the Malfoy man’s expression, surprised to see that his eyes were light with humor rather than angry.

That gave her confidence to speak up with a small smile of her own, “Lord Malfoy, sir, I know of a friend who’s quite pleased by the creature cruelty legislation you championed earlier this year. Luna Lovegood.”

The man looked at Hermione curiously, “Xenophilius’ girl, hm. Interesting thinking, Miss Granger.”

Draco looked contemplative rather than angry, something that didn’t go unnoticed by anyone in the room.

Hermione’s wand buzzed, signifying a five minute warning before their next meeting.

“Of course, sir. She’s a dear friend and a good match. Malfoy needs someone to keep him on his toes.”

“Got him in one,” Lucius said with a smirk. “Looks like your next meeting will begin soon, we’ll take our leave. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger.”

Hermione nodded, feeling satisfied by the approval of some of the most influential men in their world.

\--

Being the right hand woman for the Deputy Minister was exhilarating. Hermione had always absorbed knowledge like a sponge and felt lucky to know more than the average person. Her confidentiality was one of the reasons that she was so well-suited for the job; she was a sounding board for the Deputy Minister, but nothing she learned from him would ever be shared.

Five weeks in and she’d noted some rather interesting patterns and interactions that took place in the presence of Deputy Minister Riddle.

The first, of course, being the deferential way that many of the most notorious and powerful families in their world treated the man. From the Malfoys to the Greengrasses, members of the Wizengamot sought him out and didn’t dare to step past the lines he drew.

The introduction of Tiberius Ogden’s alcohol import bill? Postponed after Tom took issue with a small provision.

What should’ve been a close vote on Gideon Prewett’s bill to accept auror trainees who’d received only an acceptable in one of the five required N.E.W.Ts? Rejected by a supermajority after Tom whipped votes the day before.

Today, Hermione found herself squashed in a lift with Charlus Potter and Arthur Weasley, the former talking merrily about the bill he planned to introduce later that day to raise the drinking age back to 18. It took all the girl had to keep her mouth shut, knowing exactly how angry her boss would be when he found out.

“Sir,” Hermione said breathlessly as she walked into the office, one of the few days where Tom arrived ahead of her.

“Is something the matter, my sweet?” Tom asked, standing up with a concerned look on his face.

“Yes, sir,” the girl said, sitting down in the chair across from Tom to regain her breathing. “I was just in the lift with Lord Potter, and he said that he was introducing legislation today to raise the drinking age back to 18.”

Tom’s dark eyes turned colder than Hermione had ever seen, and her stomach immediately turned to ice.

“Who was he talking to, Hermione?” Tom asked, the girl barely noticing that the man called her by her first name.

“Mis- Arthur Weasley, sir. I didn’t recognize anyone else on the lift with us,” Hermione said.

“Did they see you, sweet girl?” Tom asked, starting to stand up and button his formal outer robes.

“No, sir. I was in the back corner, they couldn’t see me.”

“Very well,” Tom replied with a soft smile. “You’ve done well, sharing this with me. Please go down to the Wizengamot suites and fetch Yaxley, Malfoy, Rowle and Nott, my dear. Make haste.”

“Right away, sir,” Hermione said with a nod as she rushed out of the room, cursing the black heels she wore. Pansy Parkinson was a menace, she’d found out rather quickly. A menace who’d upped her style and funded the venture to boot.

“Granger?” Draco asked, manning the desk in front of his grandfather’s office. Hermione was interested to find out that many purebloods served as assistants for their relatives, learning the ins and outs of the Wizengamot before one day serving on it themselves. She grew to respect the boy more because of it, learning that he was more than what she’d assumed at Hogwarts.

“Draco,” she said, brushing her hair off her forehead. “Lord Malfoy is needed in the Deputy Minister’s office immediately.”

The boy’s eyes opened wide, but he didn’t ask questions as he grabbed his grandfather.

Hermione was surprised when Tom asked her to step into the heavily warded conference room, the girl taking a seat along the wall with Draco and Theodore.

“Hermione, my dear, please share what you overheard,” Tom directed from the head of the conference room table.

The reactions were par for the course, as far as she was concerned.

“Bones, MacMillan, Shafiq and Slughorn should be easy to whip on this. We’d only need one more to scrap the bill,” Abraxas mused.

“No need, Abraxas. We’ll let it pass,” Tom said, voice calm despite the incredulous stares he received.

“Sir… is this wise? Potter is making a blatant move against you,” Corban Yaxley replied, the attractive man’s dark blond ponytail thrown carelessly over his shoulder.

“James Potter will learn exactly what happens to those who ignore my will. Fear not, my friends,” Tom replied. “You’ll vote against the bill and not comment to the press afterwards. Now get out before someone sees us.”

“Yessir,” the group answered, everyone but Hermione filing out.

Hermione’s heart beat quickly at the intense look on Tom’s face, the man’s jaw even sharper than normal due to the way he was clenching it.

“Buckle up, my dear,” the man said with a dark smile. Hermione felt no fear at the expression or from the man in front of her. “The road is about to get bumpy.”

\--

“Hermione,” Tom called from his office, deep voice muffled behind the door.

“Sir,” Hermione said with a smile as she walked in, taking a seat in front of him.

“Jorund is pleased with your additions to the international trading omnibus,” the man said with an approving look. “I hate to ask, but I am in need of a favor.”

“Anything, sir.” Hermione replied with wide, innocent eyes. Not for the first time, the man found himself needing to adjust his robes to hide his growing erection at the girl’s easy, casual submission.

“You’ll go to dinner tonight in Diagon Alley with Draco, Theodore and Pansy and grab a drink afterwards.”

Hermione shifted slightly, “Tonight, sir? I had plans with my friends.”

“Tonight, Hermione. Draco will be up shortly with details,” Tom replied, voice colder than she was used to. “Finish the letter to the German Minister, I want it out by 11.”

“Of course, sir,” she replied shakily, feeling more like a 20-year-old than ever. As she worked furiously on the letter, all she could think was that she never wanted to give Tom reason to use that voice with her again.

\--

“Pretend you like Draco as we walk out,” Pansy directed, a small smile already plastered on her face.

Hermione shook her head, eyes wide as she tried to understand what Pansy meant. Draco made it easier by wrapping her cloak around her and buttoning the front as though he were more of a dalliance than a budding friend.

“Your arm, my lady,” Draco said with a smile, winking at Hermione as she linked hers with his own. “Watch for the cameras, your boss would kill me if you broke an ankle. It’s bloody cold for February.”

Hermione was grateful for the warning, snarky as it may be, only having experienced the joys of reporters while tagging after the Deputy Minister at work.

The girl didn’t expect the group to step foot into the Leaky Cauldron, but the Fae, an aptly named bar that served freely given fairy wine from the south of Sweden… she couldn’t afford one drink without tanking her rent for the month. Not that Draco had made her pay for dinner, but this was different, more casual.

The group was shown to a private table by a house elf immediately, passing a crowd of people scouting out the bar for seats to open up.

Hermione gulped as she looked at the menu, the lowest price being a 79 galleon glass of mulled cranberry and fairy wine.

“Hello misses and masters,” a pink house elf squeaked happily, a pepto bismol pink sequined skirt around her hips. “I is being Madonna, may I bring you drinks?”

Hermione hid a giggle at the elf’s name while the others shot it perturbed looks.

“I like your name,” the muggleborn said sweetly, “I think it suits you well. Just a water for me, please.”

The elf beamed, “Thank you, miss. A customer is bringing me the TV machine and I is loving it!”

“A round of water while we look at the menu, Zaldona,” Pansy said, breaking up the conversation.

“Right away, miss!” the elf replied, not mentioning the way the girl butchered her name.

“Since we drank white with dinner, I’m thinking a bottle of the Kalmar berry,” Pansy said with a perfectly manicured finger tapping her red-stained bottom lip. “That work?”

“I’ll stick to water,” Hermione said with a small, nonchalant smile that the trio didn’t buy.

“Granger,” Pansy said quietly, eyes more sober than Hermione was used to. “Theo’s dad owns this place, we aren’t paying for shit.”

Hermione blushed and looked down in shame. Being the poor friend was not something she enjoyed.

“Clearly the poor weasel had you paying for everything and disgracing the age-old chivalry that wizards are supposed to display, little one, but get used to it. You’re stuck with us, and that means that you’ll never pay for anything again. Quit your crying and accept it,” Draco said with a scoff.

“You have a way with words, Draco,” Hermione said with the roll of her eyes.

“I’ve learned over the years that you do best with direct conversation, Hermione. Don’t pout, just drink the 2,000 galleon wine.”

The girl groaned, but took a sip of the wine when it came. She had no idea what a 2,000 galleon bottle of wine should taste like, but the lightness in her head after a single glass was welcome.

They left after two bottles, and Hermione giggled as she leaned into Draco’s side.

“Let’s go here every night,” the girl said, frustrated with the difficulty it took to speak. “Especially if Theo’s paying.”

“That’s the spirit!” Pansy crowed, yanking Theo down to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Never find a bird, Draco,” Theo said, voice much clearer than that of the two girls. “They’ll milk you for all you’re worth.”

“Money is all you’re worth, my love,” Pansy coed with a wicked smile on her still perfectly drawn lips, drawing an astonished bark of laughter from Hermione. Draco rolled his eyes.

“Luna doesn’t care about money,” Hermione said, pushing the girl on Draco again. “You’ve got to take her out for a spin after she's back from... wherever she is. The Amazon, I think.

“We’ll see,” Draco replied indulgently.

Hermione flinched at the scream that came from a ways away, where she knew the entrance of the alley to be. Draco pulled her tighter to his side, holding his wand tightly in his hand.

“What’s going on?” the muggleborn asked quietly, grateful for the security of the deceivingly muscular man.

“We’ll see in a moment,” Draco replied as they followed a crowd closer to the Leaky Cauldron where the action seemed to be occurring.

“Harry?” Hermione said as they finally laid eyes on the scene in front of them. Her black-haired friend was on the ground, an auror putting silver handcuffs on him while another physically wrestled his wand from where it was smashed against the cobblestone underneath his left hip. Hermione knew it had to be bad for the officer to be putting physical handcuffs on the boy instead of casting an incarcerous curse on him.

“Oh great, the princess is here,” the boy slurred, shaking his head as much as the tight hold on him would allow.

“What’s going on?” she asked, frustrated when Draco wouldn’t allow her to get closer.

“Some tosser took my napkin, not that you’d care.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione asked bitterly, voice rising with her words.

“You forgot us, Mione. You think you’re gold now, but you’re still mud. We loved you from the start, you were ours,” Harry said, voice amplifying as he was forced to stand up from the cobblestone.

Hermione felt angry tears build, well aware of the fact that the whole of those out on the town that night had heard the comments of her first friend.

“Be the innocent victim,” Draco whispered so softly she almost missed it over the affronted gasps that echoed in the alley. “Now.”

“Really, Harry?” the girl asked on autopilot, not having to fake the tearful tremor in her voice. “You’re going to act like I’m nothing more than some pet mudblood to you?”

The boy looked over his shoulder as he was dragged to the apparition point by two aurors, clearly too drunk to care about the flash of a camera.

“I’m the one who paid for your PP when you were scrubbing toilets and couldn’t buy your own. Sounds like a pet to me!”

Hermione turned into Draco’s chest at that, unable to stop sobbing.

Draco had to hide his smiles at the anger and pity their girl was drawing, the crowd clearing for the quartet immediately.

“Hold on to me, little one,” Draco murmured as he apparated to the manor.

“Draco, darling? What’s happened?” Narcissa asked, the woman standing up from where she was curled on the couch with a book. Bellatrix was there as well, the Lestrange couple preferring to spend the night rather than coming back for breakfast in the morning.

“Fucking Potter,” Pansy spat as she walked through the Floo, shaking her head. She had been warned that they needed to be seen out tonight, but had no idea what for. Now she did, though she wasn’t sure of the point.

“Missy!” Narcissa said, an elf immediately popping in. “Tea and blankets, now.”

“C’mere, let’s get you on the couch,” Draco said, walking the girl over to the couch. She immediately put her head into Pansy’s shoulder, taking comfort in the normally stoic girl’s kindness. Narcissa took note of the way her son removed the muggleborn’s heels, noting that it was with a platonic, respectful reverence. She had questions.

“I’m impatiently waiting,” Bellatrix said, pushing her own mane of black curls back from her face. “What happened?”

“Harry Potter was arrested for whatever reason, and we walked up on it,” Theo narrated, his eyes remaining on his fiance and Hermione. “He had some choice words for our Hermione as he was being apparated out.”

“Oh dear,” Narcissa said. “I’ll return in a moment.”

The room was quiet except for the slowing sobs of Hermione.

Abraxas, Lucius and Rodolphus walked into the sitting room, all of their expressions alert and sober despite the late hour. Pansy catalogued that as another sign that there were plans she wasn’t being brought in on.

“Hermione, sweet girl,” Abraxas said as he knelt down next to the girl and grabbed her hand. The man felt grandfatherly towards the young girl after only months of knowing her, always bitter that Narcissa and Lucius hadn’t given him one of their own. “You’re okay now.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” the girl sniffled, removing her face from Pansy’s shoulder. Bellatrix gently cast a cleaning spell towards her face, knowing from experience how difficult it was to get dried mascara off your face.

“What’d he say to you?” Abraxas asked, taking a small hand into his own.

“I can’t say,” Hermione answered honestly, shaking her head.

“We need to know, gal,” Rodolphus replied gruffly, completely unaware of how to handle a crying girl. His wife was not one for soft emotions, and she was his bellwether for all things women.

Pansy spoke up after Hermione nudged her shoulder.

“Shocking drivel for holier than thou Potter. He called her mud playing at gold and let the whole of the world know that he purchased Hermione’s PP while she was working at Magique, somehow rendering her his pet mudblood.”

Jaws clenched around the room, but Lucius only smirked. He couldn’t wait for Tom to do what he did best: play the outraged moral leader.

Narcissa gasped daintily, “Oh, sweetheart. We’re so sorry. Let’s get you in a bath and in bed for a good night’s sleep. We’ll make a room up for you.”

“My cat,” Hermione said after a few moments, eyes pitifully red. “I can’t leave him.”

“I’ll grab the beast,” Pansy said with a playful roll of her eyes. “The elves will feed him until he’s comatose then we won’t have to deal with him terrorizing the masses.”

Hermione laughed at that, pulling Pansy into a hug.

“Why did I become friends with a hugger, I ask myself,” Pansy muttered as she stepped into the Floo with Theo and called out Hermione’s flat.

“Boys, shoo,” Narcissa said with the decisive clap of her hands. “Bella and I have Hermione sorted. We’ll see you at breakfast.”

Hermione wished that she was in a better place to enjoy the 50 tap tub in her guest room and the cool, high-count cotton sheets in the bed she now rested in. She fell asleep wondering what Tom would say when he found out, if he’d defend her in the way he fought for so many others day in and day out at the Ministry.

\--

“Tom, long time no see,” Abraxas said as the man stepped through the Floo, only having sent him home a few short hours ago.

“Brax,” Tom greeted with a tight nod, dragonhide shoes clicking along as he walked towards the formal dining room.

The brunet was grateful for his luck, intercepting Hermione as a tiny old elf guided her down the stairs.

“Miss Granger,” Tom said with a smile. “I didn’t know I’d be seeing you here.”

Hermione smiled weakly, curls buoyant and clean despite the slight bags on her makeup free face. The man had studied her enough to be able to tell she had been crying recently and couldn’t help but feel a slight tide of guilt rise in him at knowing he’d caused her pain. He shoved it down as soon as he felt it; he knew she’d understand eventually.

“Deputy Minister Riddle, are you here for breakfast?” Hermione continued at his nod, accepting his proffered arm as he met her at the bottom of the stairs. “I hadn’t realized it was such an affair.”

“Saturday breakfast at Malfoy Manor is a tradition I’ve partaken in since Lucius and I were at Hogwarts,” Tom said with a smile. “Nothing’s changed besides cutting back on the hashbrowns, they seem to stick on my bones the older I get.”

“I can’t tell, sir,” Hermione offered immediately, blushing as she realized the flirtiness her words held. The man was her boss! She needed to tamp her attraction down as much as was possible.

“Very kind, Miss Granger, if not true.” Tom said with a wink, enjoying the comfortability that silent moments with the girl always brought.

“Good morning, you two,” Narcissa said as the pair walked into the almost full room, everyone now seated including Abraxas at the table’s head. Hermione couldn’t help but notice the woman was perfectly coiffed despite the early hour and deigned to ask for tips. She was sure the woman would love the mixture of a compliment and a chance to teach.

“Morning, Narcissa,” Tom replied. “A sizable crowd this morning.”

“We’re lucky to have Hermione with us for the first time,” Narcissa smiled. “I’m happy to meet the woman I’ve heard so much about.”

“Only the best as my assistant,” Tom said as he pulled out one of two empty chairs for her and pushed it in behind her. The man sat down to Abraxas’ left, Hermione immediately next to him. It was a statement that no one with eyes to see and a mind to understand missed.

Breakfast was a fine, if opulent, affair, Hermione discovered.

“Oh no,” the girl squeaked when an elf popped in halfway through the meal, a stack of papers in its hands. She knocked her tea all over the white of the table cloth that looked like it cost more than her entirety of kitchen appliances. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t fret, dear. Zippet,” Narcissa called, an elf immediately walking over to clean the spill and pour her another perfect cup of tea.

“Best to get it over with, dear.” Abraxas said gently.

“What am I missing?” Tom asked with a raised brow, playing his part perfectly.

“There was an… incident last night while we were grabbing dinner. Ended with Potter getting arrested, but Hermione’s face is likely plastered in the papers,” Pansy offered blandly, receiving disproving looks for her lack of tact. “What? I summarized, no one asked for editorial commentary.”

“That’s why we love you, my petal,” Theo replied, smacking a kiss onto the girl’s hand.

Tom held a hand out expectantly, eyes poring over the front page of the paper. He was grateful to see his girl’s heartbroken face on the front page, the stumbling, sneering form of Harry Potter a stark contrast to her perfect innocence. He felt himself stiffening in his pants at the girl’s tearful expression and had to shift to read the text.

**POTTER HEIR'S BIG BREAK OR A MENTAL BREAK?**

  
_Just months after becoming the only newly graduated Hogwarts student to be accepted into the streamlined auror training program, Harry Potter was arrested for drunk and disorderly contact at the Leaky Cauldron. According to a witness, an inebriated Potter, son of DMLE’s own Head Auror James Potter, hexed an elderly man after the senior grabbed a napkin off the bar. The soon-to-be ex-trainee, as the Prophet has been informed, was then put into handcuffs in the alley._

_While checking on her old friend’s mental state as he writhed on the cobblestone and resisted arrest, Secretary to Deputy Minister Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger, was tearful as the drunk man threw jabs her way._

_“Potter called her a pet mudblood in front of everyone. She was one of his only friends at Hogwarts, you understand,” one bystander told the Prophet, shaking her head in disgust. “Then, to make it worse, he shouted that he’d bought her period potions (PP) while she was down and out after graduating as if that was something the world needed to know. What kind of friend is that? But even more who the (expletive) would trust such a shady git as an auror? Not me.”_

_The Prophet continues to follow the story and will have more details on Monday as the Wizengamot returns to session._

“How bad is it?” Hermione asked, face bright red as she stabbed her fork into a perfectly browned piece of potato.

“The world now knows that Saint Potter bought your period potion,” Draco offered, drawing a groan from Hermione and a slap on the arm from his aunt. “But really, Hermione. This makes him look like a total racist prick. Just wait until the Prophet asks Tom and members of the Wizengamot for comment.”

Hermione looked to her right, staring into Tom’s eyes.

“Why will they ask you?”

Tom smiled softly, his smart girl knew so much but was still so naive.

“I’m your boss, my sweet. Why wouldn’t they ask me? They’ll ask all of us to build their narrative.”

“What will you say? What will you all say?” Hermione asked, catching eyes with the men she knew would be questioned in less than 48 hours.

“Trust me,” Tom said with a dark smile. “I promised you the Potters would regret crossing me.”

\--  
**HEAD AUROR POTTER CUTS HIS OWN SON FROM PROGRAM**  
_**Wizengamot members share the public’s concerns: can we trust the Head Auror’s judgment?**_

_Statements from Wizengamot members on this weekend’s scandal with the youngest Potter this week were scathing and only led to more questions. The Head Auror spoke to the press yesterday, announcing that he’d cut Harry Potter, his own son, from the DMLE’s auror training program. He refused to answer questions on his son’s comment to the young Hermione Granger, Secretary to Deputy Minister Tom Riddle, stating that he was only here in his official capacity. Lord Abraxas Malfoy asked the question that’s on many of our minds when speaking to the Prophet later in the day: since when is racism against one of our best and brightest something that law enforcement can’t speak on in an official capacity?_

_The Prophet’s Rita Skeeter was able to catch up with Deputy Minister Tom Riddle himself and the man was well spoken as always. Read his spoken statement in full below:_

_“The day I met Hermione Granger, I knew that she had the potential to change wizarding Britain for the better. I am ashamed to see one of our own, especially someone who’d been training to oversee the meting out of justice in our community, be so afflicted by bigotry and the bad sense to speak ill to a lady in public. On a personal level, I’m sickened to know that Miss Granger considered Mr. Potter one of her closest friends._

_Just a few short weeks ago, Lord Charlus Potter pushed for legislation to raise the drinking age to 18 in an effort to allegedly combat auror calls for drunk and disorderly behavior that ended up passing into law. As I shared with his son, the Head Auror, in our meeting on this legislation, 18 to 20-year-olds share similar statistics when it comes to being inebriated in public and having auror intervention. Why cripple the hospitality economy to push unnecessary restrictions against of-age witches and wizards? I still don’t have an answer. The Potters can now look at their own heir and see firsthand the uselessness of this restrictive bill. It’s my hope that the judgment and leadership of both Lord Potter and head Auror Potter will become steadier and more trusted in the weeks ahead.”_

_More tomorrow, readers. Today, rest assured that one potentially reckless auror is off the streets. We at the Prophet are working around the clock to keep you informed and hold your government accountable._

Hermione felt breathless as she finished reading the article, cramped in the single-stall ladies room at the very corner of their floor at the Ministry. Countless questions swirled through her mind, but one made its way to the top… Was she the pawn or was she the player?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy! More to come, get ready for the introduction of more beloved characters in the next chapter and some Tomione togetherness :) Please review, your comments keep me going! Stay safe, stay healthy and have a wonderful weekend.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who’s read! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Let me know what you think!

“When will the stroppy cow get it through her thick skull that she’s never getting a private dinner meeting?” Hermione raged as she responded to yet another letter from Dolores Umbridge that the Deputy Minister was unavailable for dinner this month.

“The Umbridge bitch?” Pansy asked, continuing to file her nails. Hermione didn’t allow herself to get upset about the nail filings accumulating on the black leather, mentally noting that she’d need to clean up after the girl left.

“Of course,” Hermione said with the roll of her eyes. “She’s relentless.”

“What does she even want?”

“She’s a mid-ranked lackey down in the Department of Ed and wants in the Deputy Minister’s trousers.”

Pansy smirked, “She wouldn’t be the only one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione asked, face turning pink. She was careful with her burgeoning crush, a mixture of professionalism and fear causing her to keep her mouth shut.

The hellion simply raised an eyebrow before going back to filing, leaving Hermione in a silence she was anything but comfortable with.

It’d been 17 days since she’d last seen Harry, and she was finally set to see him tonight.

Draco was perpetually perturbed at Hermione’s inability to describe exactly why she was friends with Ron and Harry, which had led to an hours long conversation on Hermione’s life that left him with a good understanding of the onion of a woman in front of him and her thinking he should’ve become a mind healer.

“So basically we’re the only real friends you’ve ever had?” Draco had asked after Hermione finished talking.

“The jury remains out on if you’re my friends, Draco,” Hermione replied with a tight smile, eyes showing that she knew more than she was willing to say. “But if I decide that you are, then… yes. You’ll join Luna on a short list.”

\--

“Everything all right, Hermione?” Tom asked, noticing the girl’s inability to focus since she’d walked in that morning and put her own tea on his desk.

His intuition was proven right when she jumped at his voice.

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir,” Hermione said with a weak smile, weighing whether or not to tell her boss what was on her mind.

Tom, without even fully probing the girl’s mind could figure that out.

“You can trust me, Hermione. No need to worry about professional boundaries past 5, especially when it’s clearly affecting you.”

The girl sighed, “I’m getting dinner with some old friends, including Harry. Relations are a bit strained, you see. Even more so lately.”

Tom did his best to let out a pained noise in commiseration. Life would be so much easier when Hermione was his and they were no longer dancing around each other.

“That sounds particularly uncomfortable. I will keep you in my thoughts,” Tom said, pleased that he managed to strike the right tone.

“Thank you, sir.” Hermione said with a small smile of her own.

“Of course, my dear. You’ll have to fill me in tomorrow,” Tom said, waving the girl away with a hand. “Now go, I’ll see you in the morning.”

\--

Hermione’s stomach cramped as she apparated to the front gate of the Potter’s ancestral manor, a white and blue monstrosity with more turrets than Hogwarts. Harry laughed at Hermione’s horrified expression the first time she’d come over, explaining that a very pregnant Henrietta Potter III was angry she was unfit to travel to their Grecian summer house, prompting her husband to have elves hand paint the entire manor blue and white. 

“Miss Herm!” a bulgy-eyed elf said with a smile.

“Oh, Noggy! I’ve missed you,” Hermione replied with a smile of her own. “How are you?”

“Noggy is being good, very good. He is excited for the spring flowers!”

“How lovely,” Hermione said as she walked along the path with the elf, holding her cloak tighter to her body to guard against the chill. “Who is here for dinner?”

“The whole Potters is being here with the Weasleys and Blacks. Noggy is saying because he is liking Miss Herm, but they is not saying nice things.”

“That’s to be expected, Noggy,” Hermione replied with a soothing smile to the elf.

“Mione,” Ron said with a cautious glance towards the girl as she walked in.

“Ron, everyone,” Hermione said as she eyed the entire table. “I didn’t realize that everyone would be here.”

“This is a family affair, my girl,” Charlus Potter said with a tight smile from the head of the table. “We all wanted to check in on you.”

Funny how it took me getting a job for you to check in, Hermione thought bitterly. She’d promised herself that she’d never forget who helped her and who sat to the side and watched her suffer. Thankfully, the list was long and all the tallies were on one side. No one helped her except for Tom.

“Dig in,” Charlus said after a pause as Hermione sat down next to Marlene McKinnon Black, granting the woman a tight smile. She’d always been a bit of a flighty chit, the way she paraded around in Black family jewels at society events enough for Hermione to know where the woman’s priorities lay.

“How’s the new job, Hermione?” Lily Potter asked after an extended silence, a thin smile on her lips. She probably thought she looked pleasant, Hermione thought to herself.

“It’s wonderful,” Hermione beamed. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t downplay her joy and success in anyone’s presence; she deserved it as much as anyone else. “The Deputy Minister is a tough man, but I can’t imagine a better learning experience.”

Sirius choked slightly on his salad at that, clearly having something to say. Hermione was pleased to see that Ophiuchus, his son, wasn’t there. The boy was a spitting image of his father both in his ability to rip someone to shreds with a single sentence and his unwavering loyalty to his family and friends. For some reason, the boy decided that Hermione was not included in that group and made it his mission to leave the girl out of every get together he’d have, with his simpering mother and oblivious father on his side no matter who protested. The boy was on her list.

Hermione chanced a look at Harry, seeing her friend’s drawn expression from where he sat next to Ginny. The boy was always somewhat put upon, for what reason, Hermione couldn’t tell you, but he looked like the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders as he stabbed his fork into the plate of greens in front of him.

“Sounds about right,” James answered with a half-hearted smile of his own. “Not to dig into your business, Hermione, but we wanted you to know that we’re all here for you. Not having, er, parents, especially in this world is difficult. We want you to know that we are all happy to step into that role, whether you need help or a shoulder to lean on.”

The girl swallowed her simmering anger.

“Thank you for the kind offer. Respectfully, as much as this offer would’ve been appreciated months ago… I am doing well for myself now.”

“Until you’re not,” Sirius said with a raised brow. “Tom Riddle sucks you in and spits you out, girl. The moment you get on the wrong side of him is the moment you see the side he’s hiding.”

“Like Harry,” Ron piped up.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Ronald?” 

“You were at the meeting, sweetheart,” James said slowly as though he were talking to a four-year-old. “The man didn’t want the drinking age legislation on the floor of the Wizengamot, but it passed… only weeks later, my of-age son is on the front page of the Prophet for being drunk and disorderly. There is coincidence and there is retaliation, Hermione.”

“You’re blaming Deputy Minister Riddle for Harry’s own actions? He wouldn’t have been on the front page if he didn’t call me a mudblood, Mr. Potter!” 

“I didn’t call you a mudblood,” Harry piped up, emotion coming into his eyes for the first time.

“Good as well, Harry. I was willing to make amends, but I didn’t figure you’d want to hash this out in front of everyone we know,” Hermione said, skin slightly flushed as she realized she was losing her temper in front of her friend’s parents and grandparents.

“We’re family here, Hermione. Nothing leaves this table,” Lily said with a motherly smile that the girl had sought out months earlier, only to be turned away with a prim “that’s why I got married straight out of Hogwarts.”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” Hermione said with a shaky smile, well aware of the distrusting looks she was receiving from everyone but Dorea Black Potter. She was done trying. “I’m feeling rather faint all of a sudden and think I should rest. I apologize for leaving so soon.”

“I’ll walk you out, dear,” Dorea Potter said with finality, standing up as her black and gray curls bounced on her shoulders. Hermione was shocked when the woman linked arms with her, a gesture she didn’t expect from a woman she’d only spoken to a few times.

The woman led Hermione to the Floo in silence, shutting the doors before speaking.

“I may be a Potter in name, but I’m a Black in heart and mind,” the woman said with gray eyes trained on Hermione. She reminded her of Bellatrix Lestrange which was a comfort in what felt like hostile enemy territory. “Trust your instincts, Hermione.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Hermione replied with a nod. She had to blink back tears when the woman hugged her tightly in a way she’d always longed for.

“Owl me any time, dearie.”

“I will,” Hermione smiled, destination solidifying in her mind after a moment of thought.

She grabbed Floo powder and waved goodbye with her free hand. “Lord’s study, Malfoy Manor!”

“Hermione?” Abraxas said, standing up with a furrowed brow as he looked over the girl. 

“Hello sir,” Hermione answered somewhat breathlessly and self-conscious at the gall of Flooing into the man’s private study. “You had said I could come if I needed you, and…”

“I only say what I mean, dearest,” Abraxas said with a relieved smile after assessing the girl’s form and seeing she wasn’t hurt. “Come sit down.”

Hermione moved to the plush L-shaped leather couch and sighed as she sunk into the plush comfort.

“Nice, hm?” Abraxas said with the wiggle of his eyebrows as he sat down near the girl, a glass of dark liquor in his hand.

“So comfy,” Hermione smiled.

“First order of business... have you eaten supper?”

“I haven’t, but I’ll eat once I’m home,” Hermione said with an unworried look. “I won’t take too much of your time.”

“Nonsense, dear. You’ll have to eat with me in order to enjoy the best cooking galleons can’t buy, but I think you’ll survive,” Abraxas chuckled at himself and snapped his fingers.

A hot pink house elf with a green tuft of hair on its head popped in. Hermione’s eyes bulged at the cute sight.

“Zepner, set dinner for two in my sitting room.”

“Yessir, Master Braxas!” the elf replied, popping out of the room with a wriggle of his tulle-covered hips.

“I love him,” Hermione blurted out, causing the man to laugh out loud.

“Fun, isn’t he? We’ve been together since I was born, he’s like the brother I never wanted and am forever stuck with.”

“Why is he so… colourful? I’ve never seen an elf like him.”

“He transfigured himself, my dear. He’s big on the latest muggle fashion trends; I’m not sure who deemed bright pink stylish, but it makes him happy. That’s all that matters to me. Now… tell me, what brought you here?”

“Thank you for having me, Lord Malfoy. I apologize for barging in on your evening.”

“You’ll have to call me Brax or papa, little one. I’m much too fond of you for you to be anything but my friend or my daughter,” the man said with a fond smile that had Hermione feeling incredulously happy. The man was nothing like she first thought.

“Brax,” Hermione said with a tentative smile, receiving a wink in return letting her know that he was still pleased with her. “I was at Potter Place and had a bit of a rough go of it. My friends led me to believe we’d be having a private dinner, but I walked into the Spanish Inquisition.”

The blond looked as though he couldn’t decide between concern, anger and confusion and motioned for her to continue.

“After getting berated about working for Tom, I decided to leave. Surprisingly, Lady Potter led me to the Floo and left me with an ominous comment about knowing who really cares for me.”

“Dorea was always a smart witch,” Abraxas mused with a sigh. “Pity she had to fulfill a contract with Potter.”

“They were betrothed? It wasn’t a love match?” Hermione asked in surprise.

“It almost always never is,” Abraxas replied with a sigh. “Some of us get on better than others, but our purpose isn’t love.. It’s duty.”

“That sounds like a sad existence.”

“I’m quite happy despite my wife’s perpetual vacation to France,” Abraxas said with a smile. “She is a good woman, we just aren’t meant to always be in one another’s company. Would you tell me about your family?”

“Of course,” Hermione said with a deep breath. “I was raised in Hampstead in north London, my parents are both dentists or muggle teeth healers.”

Abraxas interjected with a happy laugh, “A secret, my dear. You can tell which families have truly never heard of a dentist by looking at their smiles. Do I look like a man who's never been to a dental office?”

Hermione squinted at his bright smile, “No… no you don’t.”

“Please, continue.”

“Well, it’s not the happiest story. I was always bookish and solitary as a girl, and it took me a few years to realize that’s not exactly why parents have kids,” Hermione said with the smile of one who’d come to terms with being a disappointment to her parents. 

“I was a bit of a loner until Professor McGonagall showed up on my eleventh birthday. I think my parents were relieved to learn that I was going away in less than a year while I was frustrated with knowing I had a year before I’d know anything about the world I was supposed to be in. A year spent doing nothing but dreaming while children like Draco had magical tutors who prepared him for Hogwarts.”

“Too right, Hermione… we’ll touch on that soon. I won’t apologize for being a nosy man- where are they now?”

“Well,” Hermione breathed. “It’s a bit of murky water, you see. I came home for Christmas my first year, and my mum was six months pregnant. Not that they saw it fit to share in any of their letters. After Henry was born, they were a bit cold, a bit distant. They got their bright, shiny child who wanted to spend time with them and take Disney vacations, er a muggle amusement park. He’s a good boy, much more up to snuff of the upper middle class cookie cutter child than I ever was.”

“Do you still see them?”

Hermione swallowed the still-present pain. “No, I don’t. They had a fit in Flourish and Blotts my second year after Professor Lockhart added a ridiculous amount of his own books to our reading list. Your son might recall drawing even more attention to the scene they made by laughing loudly as I teared up. Long story short, they didn’t understand why they were putting resources into an education they’d never see the fruits of, what with being cut off from our world. So they talked to Headmaster Dumbledore about turning custody of me over to a wizarding family who could actually invest in my education and know about what my future held.”

Abraxas sat up straighter. “What, so they just left a twelve-year-old girl to fend for herself in a world they didn’t know enough about to trust? Who took you in?”

“Thirteen-year-old girl,” Hermione said drily. “No one, the headmaster put feelers out but no one was interested in taking a muggleborn into their family it seems. I became a ward of the school, I stayed at Hogwarts during the holidays and that was that.”

“What a crock of shit! You’d think that man would learn from his mistakes,” Abraxas fumed, standing up from the couch and pacing back and forth. “You aren’t the first life he ruined, girl, and I’ll be damned if you aren’t the last.”

“I’m fine, Brax. Really,” Hermione said in what she hoped was a soothing voice. “I have a job, a flat and my cat. Would it have been nice to have a family, especially one who understands magic? Certainly, but that wasn’t the case. I’ve moved on.”

“You realize he set you up to fail? Just like another Hogwarts student he left to rot in an orphanage.”

“Who?” Hermione asked with wide eyes.

“Not my story to tell, dear one. Have you ever asked your friends why their parents didn’t take you in? Potter? Weasley?”

Hermione flushed and could only speak in a whisper. “No. They’re… the only friends I’ve ever had. To ask meant to ascertain the basis of our friendship which I now know to be convenience and access to a walking library. I couldn’t bear to know.”

“You do realize that it’s impossible to get a job in our world without the backing of a half or pure family?”

Hermione leveled him a look, “I was cleaning the loo at the only restaurant in the alley not serviced by house elves after getting the best marks in years, Brax. How would I not know?”

The subject of her ire raised his arms in placation, “Just asking, my dear. Why did your friends never step in on your behalf?”

“I could ask you a similar question; why are you so nice to me? Why are all of you so nice to me when Slytherin is the house of those who seek power, ambition and purity above all else?”

“Purity is a crock of shit, my sweet. With the boozing that goes on at balls and galas, a good third of the children born to pureblood women aren’t actually related to the last name they carry. Power, though… power is might. You are powerful and worthy, Hermione. We all see it in you.”

“Respectfully, that sounds like what anyone would say to placate the girl making 24k galleons a year while working overtime to support your legislative agenda.”

The man shuddered, “How do you live on that pocket change? You let papa know if you need money, Hermione. Or a house. Or clothes.”

“I’m fine, Brax,” Hermione said with a peal of incredulous giggles.

“I’m not sure that’s true, you’re impoverished!”

“And I’ve been impoverished since I was 13 and handwashing my three pairs of knickers that the Hogwarts Fund for Indigent Boys and Girls provided since the elves came once a week to get our laundry. I’m okay; I’ve survived worse.”

“I’d load you up and take you to my favorite spa right now if I wasn’t certain my wife was already there,” the man warned with a stern look.

“I’d rather meet her under circumstances where she doesn’t assume I’m trying to take her place.”

The man let out a loud laugh, “Nothing untoward here, dear. Just a man who was stuck with Lucius instead of the daughter he dreamed of.”

“Sounds particularly disheartening, knowing Lucius as I do,” Hermione said with a fake frown.

“Woe is me, indeed. Now, you must be starving. I can’t imagine what cheese and crackers one is forced to consume on your meager income. Let’s eat a real meal and discuss what this Disney park is.”

\--

Hermione flicked her hand at the door, pleased at how she’d become proficient at a verbal, wandless door-opening spell over the past few months.

“Beautiful view, Hermione,” a soft voice said. “I was just in another office where the only view was the Ministry atrium.”

“Luna!” Hermione squealed, taking in the now tan skin of her beautiful, fairy-like friend.

“I’ve missed you,” Luna beamed, squeezing the only girl she considered to be a friend close.

“Me as well,” Hermione replied, sighing into the hug. She never knew how much she craved touch until she received it. “I thought you were getting back this weekend?”

“Daddy and I found the lilac mandioca much sooner than we thought possible,” Luna smiled. “I made friends with a lobizon named Julio. He knew exactly where it was planted.”

“You are amazing, Luna! Imagine the possibilities now that you’ve found it,” Hermione breathed, knowing that the Amazonian rarity was referenced in countless potions recipes that have since been rendered obsolete without access to the plant.

“Professor Snape was quite pleased. I fancy that he even smiled at me, but daddy said it was probably the wrackspurts.”

“What’s ailed our dear professor?” Tom asked, Hermione jolting when she realized the man was leaning against his own door frame. The girl was helpless but to notice the fine line his legs made in his finely tailored pants, his shirt rolled up to his forearms so as to not stain them with ink.

“Only wrackspurts, they’re quite common,” Luna replied, unfazed by the new man’s eavesdropping. “Hopefully now that he has lilac mandioca in his repertoire, he’ll brew himself some peaceable punch and they’ll disappear.”

Tom smiled widely, “Ah, you must be Miss Luna Lovegood. I’ve heard so much about you from Miss Granger.”

Luna returned the man’s smile with a nod, “That is certainly my name for now, though I have someone to see about that. Would you mind if Hermione took me to see Draco?”

Tom’s smile only grew as the man let out a chuckle, “You’ve exceeded my expectations, Miss Lovegood. Take your time, Hermione. I am no fool to mess with love when it’s in the air.”

Hermione rolled her eyes playfully as she put her outer robes on over her foam green dress, her relationship with her boss growing more and more friendly with every day spent together.

“Oh, and Deputy Minister… my grandfather would love to discuss an idea for deep sea fishing legislation with you, he’ll be dropping you an owl.”

“Wonderful, I look forward to hearing from him,” Tom nodded and then stepped back behind his desk in an obvious dismissal.

Hermione couldn’t help but giggle as she walked out. “What was that?”

Luna shrugged as she bounced happily down the hallway, “Sizing up your new man. Older men aren’t my type, but he’s quite handsome.”

“Luna!” Hermione hissed, blushing as she looked around the veritable sausage fest that was the Ministry of Magic. “You can’t say that out loud.”

“You’re the one sending letters to the Amazon about a boy you’d like me to marry, I think you have no room to talk.”

Hermione had the decency to look sheepish. “He’s really very sweet, much different than at Hogwarts.”

Luna gave her friend a long look as they finally reached the lift. “I think you’re the only person at Hogwarts who was actually sweet, Hermione.”

“Lies!” the girl hissed, sliding into the blissfully empty elevator next to Luna. “Do you mind waiting in the hall while I go see Lord Malfoy?”

“No, I’ll be just fine,” Luna said with a smile as she hummed along to her own merry tune outside of the Malfoy suite of offices.

“Granger,” Draco said with a nod and a smile.

“Is Brax in?” the girl asked, receiving a snort.

“He is,” Draco said with the roll of his eyes. “You can go in if you promise to stop sweet talking my grandfather and trying to take my inheritance.”

Hermione looked at the boy with all of the innocence she could muster. “I don’t have to talk him into it, Draco, I’m just more likeable than you.”

Abraxas looked up in amusement at the angry shout from his nephew. “My girl, what has my nephew done now?”

“I think he’d tell you to ask what I’ve done, and he doesn’t know the half of it. Luna is home from the Amazon early and waiting in the hall. Would you like to meet her?”

“My sweetest girl,” Abraxas crooned, standing up and pulling the girl into a paternal hug. “Let’s bring her in and leave that awful boy in the dark for a while.”

The frustrated and mortified squeak that Draco made as the door shut made Hermione the happiest she’d felt in years.

\--

“I will fucking AK the next person whose name is tied to a mistake in here,” Tom muttered.

“What?” Hermione asked, looking up with wide, slightly crazed eyes. The man couldn’t help but feel enamored by the girl’s hair that has been growing frizzier by the hour.

“I said I was hungry,” Tom replied. “It’s past nine. Would you be terribly uncomfortable relocating to my place?”

Hermione contemplated for a second, knowing the implications of an older, powerful man inviting a younger, power-hungry woman over to his house (flat? manor?).

“Of course, sir. I could eat a hippogriff.”

“We’ll see what the elves are able to do,” Tom said as he stood up and wandlessly collected the large stack of parchment that was currently occupying their minds and time.

\--

“Wow,” Hermione breathed as she stepped out of the Floo and into the living room of a plush, comfortable manor. “I feel like I’m stepping into my dream home.”

Tom laughed warmly, possessively pleased with the girl’s comment. “Is it? Hopefully the rest of the manor lives up to that expectation, this is only the Floo foyer.”

“Yep,” Hermione said, theatrically popping the p. “This is the perfect home… mansion.”

“Manor, if you will,” Tom said with waggling eyebrows. Hermione laughed in surprised delight at the man’s joke.

“Is this an ancestral manor?”

“It is, Gaunt Manor. Inherited on my mother’s side of the family,” Tom said as he strode towards the dining room, the only space they hadn’t peeked in yet.

“Well, it’s beautiful. I’m sure it’s lovely when the snow’s falling,” Hermione said with a sigh, staring out the windows at the half-frozen lake.

Tom smiled, “Winter’s my favorite season as well. It’s quite beautiful and the only time that unicorns have shown up.”

Hermione clapped in delight, “Oh, how wonderful! Hagrid was supposed to show us unicorns during third year, but the centaurs put their foot, er feet, down…”

The man let out a bark of laughter. “That oaf is still teaching? Of all the dumb decisions that Dumbledore has made, that is tops. Good man, sure, but a professor? Not a chance in hell.”

The girl beamed, “Oh, thank you! Harry told me I was a heartless bitch when I said the same. From the unfed hippogriffs to the nearly-hatched dragon eggs, he almost killed us at least twice. He isn’t fit to teach.”

Tom smiled appraisingly. He was pleasantly surprised to see a more logical, cold side of the girl who he knew to be sweet and emotional. Of course, he knew those instincts were there, but to hear her voice them out loud pleased him.

“We’ll add that to our long list of reforms as we burn this world to the ground,” the man said with a dark glint in his eyes. Hermione couldn’t help but feel flushed at the timbre of his voice and all that his words insinuated.

“You is having to wait, Master! Is time for dinner,” a tiny elf said as it peeked its head out from behind a large set of wooden doors.

“Raffy,” Tom said in a soft voice with a smile Hermione would almost consider sweet. “Meet Miss Hermione Granger, my assistant.”

The elf let out a squeak and stepped into the room. Her well-pressed tea towel had a large snake and skull pattern on it that looked very much out of place on the magenta fabric.

“You is keeping Master fed and saving the elves! We is thanking you, miss,” the elf said with a beaming smile.

Hermione blushed at the elf’s praise. “You are very kind, Raffy. I’m just doing my job, as much as you are.”

“It’s being late, let’s get food in your bellies!”

The girl was extremely pleased at the fact that the food was already spread out on the table.

“Problem?” Tom asked, noting the girl’s range of emotions. He would have to kill one of the kitchen elves if his girl was displeased and he’d take no joy in it. He loved his elves.

“No!” Hermione rushed out. “I’m… it’s embarrassing, but I’m quite sick of the 11 course meals that everyone seems to serve in this world. They take three hours and I'm rarely ever full.”

“Not embarrassing at all,” Tom said slowly. “I’m happy to hear I’m not alone in that thought, it’s one that crosses my mind every time I’m sat down wondering if I should poison someone so that dinner ends before cheese masquerading as dessert is served.”

“Merlin, what a concept! Cheese is not dessert. Not now, not ever. I don’t care if it’s the fanciest cheese in the world, chocolate will always reign supreme. Let’s move that up to the top of our list.”

“I think we’ll lose Brax on it, but I’m sure we’ll get most other votes,” Tom smirked. “I like how you said our list, Miss Granger.”

“Call me Hermione,” the girl said, fingering the rim of the wine glass that was in front of her. A sip of wine and she was feeling rather bold.

“Hermione,” the man purred, sipping his own gin. “Then you must call me Tom while we’re alone.”

“Tom,” the girl replied, rolling the word on her tongue.

“I’ve always hated the name, but it sounds good coming from your mouth.”

Danger. Zone. The sirens in Hermione’s mind were blaring, knowing she was getting far away from the propriety that a relationship with her boss should hold. Divert. Divert. Divert.

“Um… should we get started? I’m sure you have better plans than to spend the weekend reviewing this legislation.”

“On the contrary, my dear. I am unfortunately all too aware of the sub-par legislation that I receive from other departments and set Friday deadlines only so I have a full weekend to rip it apart and put it back together.”

“Not to wave a red flag, but if I knew how incompetent most ministry workers were when I was getting rejected left and right, I would be in Azkaban right now.”

Tom smiled at the bloodthirsty and eager girl in front of him. “Isn’t it better now when you can bring them to their knees and take them by the throats through legal means?”

“Oh, yes,” Hermione said with a nod, keeping her eye on the sheet of parchment in front of her. “Though I have to say the list of those who I would rather see dead grows as I continue working. I probably shouldn’t have said that, let’s keep it between us.”

“You have my complete discretion as always, Hermione. You know this. And I have to say I find your baser urges rather endearing.”

The girl sputtered as daintily as one can. “Endearing? That’s quite a word to sum up my blood lust, anger and embarrassment towards so many of the people we see everyday.”

“Harness it, my girl. Never allow yourself to forget who has wronged you and bide your time until you can make them pay.”

“Have you done that? Seek revenge on someone who’s wronged you?”

“Many, many times.”

Hermione’s 50 followup questions were stopped as the sound of boots sounded in the silence of the manor. The girl tensed up, but relaxed when she saw that Tom was still calm.

“My apologies for interrupting your evening, my Lord,” a deep voice sounded. A slightly flushed Corban Yaxley stepped around a tall shelf of historical records before he saw Hermione. “And I apologize for interjecting in your company as well. Nice to see you, Miss Granger.

“You as well, Lord Yaxley,” Hermione replied with a small smile. She hid her surprise at the man’s casual entrance into the manor, not having realized the pair was so closely acquainted. His use of lord was also cause for questioning in Hermione’s mind, the girl knowing full well that the man was a half-blood and only had access to Gaunt Manor because he was the last of the line. She weighed whether or not it would be useful to question Tom on it or add it to the ever-growing list of suspicious happenings in the man’s presence.

“Would you excuse us for a moment, Hermione?” Tom asked apologetically. “Tukkah is in charge of the Gaunt library and can procure any books you may need in my absence.”

“Of course not, sir,” Hermione replied, reverting to titles in the presence of another. “Hopefully I’ll have finished by the time you’re back.”

“We can only hope,” Tom said with a tight smile before leading the man out.

Hermione was finishing up their one page summary of the updated Muggle Magic Meat and More Marketing Agreement they’d just revised and felt the Deputy Minister would be pleased with her work. The legislation was a bit of a shit show to pull together, but the last update had been in 1988 before Fudge had been installed as Minister for Magic. After hearing from multiple farmers and supply chain procurement executives, they’d seen room to boost Tom’s popularity and secure lower food prices for families across Britain. When it passed, 5M would be a win-win.

“Sorry for the delay, my dear,” Tom said with an exaggerated sigh as he sat back down. 

“No worries, Tom. I hope everything’s okay,” Hermione replied, pointedly not asking about what had happened although she was bursting to know what’d occurred. “I’ve finished revising the bill and worked up a section-by-section and one-pager. If you like it as is, I can work up talking points to distribute to our allies.”

“Talking points?” the man asked with a raised brow.

The girl blushed slightly, “It’s a bit from muggle politics. Allied MPs share talking points on legislation to ensure they’re all hitting the same data points when speaking to their constituencies or press. For this bill, since it’s so widespread, I thought we could divide up talkers by interest. Abraxas could discuss the economic impact, Rowle could discuss international relations, Black can discuss the farmworkers since he owns half of the Diagon Alley farmers market… I was even thinking we could convince a Prophet reporter to reach out to Professor Snape for his opinion as a potions master and he could share how the bill would make ingredients more readily available. These are all just thoughts.”

Tom looked thoughtful for a moment, tapping one slender finger on his perfectly plush lips.

“Brilliant, my dear. Absolutely brilliant. Let’s get you off to your flat, and we’ll reconvene in the morning. You’ve done remarkably.”

Hermione blushed bright red, feeling the praise light up her nether regions for what had to be the millionth time. What was it with her getting hot as her boss commended her mind? Something had to be wrong with her.

“Of course, sir. I’ll await your owl.”

“No need,” Tom said with a lazy wave of his hand as he guided her back to the first floor Floo foyer. “The wards are reset, just pop in at 10am. The elves will serve breakfast and we’ll get back to work. If you could owl the circle to be here by half one before you go to sleep, that would be most helpful.”

“Will do, sir.”

“Feed your cat, first, though. We wouldn’t want him getting cross,” Tom said with a wink. He watched the girl intensely as she Flooed out, standing there long after the fire settled and the room was quiet. The girl was smart and beautiful. How would he move past the boundary that was currently set in order to get her where he wanted her without tamping her ambition? Fuck 5M, he had real work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments give me life and energy to write more at the end of long workdays. Asks and prompts are open on tumblr: ThisCityChickk.Tumblr.Com
> 
> I’ve debated writing something, but I've received a few negative comments about my characterizations. I hope that those still reading understand that in-depth fics do not share every detail of someone's life that makes them who they are in the first chapter. You will learn more in this chapter, but please remember that Hermione is not the same girl who fought alongside Harry at the end of every school year. She is facing the very real prejudices and consequences of a nepotistic system that so many face every day, only it's compounded in the very fictionalized British wizarding world. That’s what I’m seeking to flesh out here. With this fic and everything other fic you check out: if you don’t like, don’t read! Stay safe, stay healthy, share love and treat others with kindness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for reading! I haven't edited this yet, but wanted to get it up. will check grammar and consistency in the morning- the joys of not having a beta are real, my friends.

“Brax,” Tom said with the tip of his head. He wanted to bash his head into a wall at the foreign feeling of nervousness that had invaded his chest. Who was this girl to make him feel so out of sorts?

“Tom,” the man said with a slight smile. If Tom didn’t know any better, he wouldn’t have seen the nervousness in the expression. What’d the man do? “I’m glad you owled, it feels like ages since we last sat down together.”

“Quite right. Thank Salazar that 5M passed without incident and we can take a quick breath.”

Abraxas laughed, shoulders relaxing slightly. “If only we didn’t have education, werewolves, import taxes and appropriations ahead of us.”

“Don’t remind me,” Tom said as he sipped on the gin Abraxas kept on hand for him and him only.

“I confess that I did invite you over for more than a social call, my friend,” Abraxas confessed over their fifth course of a perfectly cooked wagyu filet and asparagus. Tom only gave his friend a dark look at hearing they’d be dining over seven courses.

“We’ve never been ones to dally, Abraxas,” Tom said sharply. “Out with it.”

“I want the girl to be mine,” Abraxas got out quickly, holding his wandless hands up when Tom’s expression turned murderous. “My daughter! As my daughter.”

Tom let out a breath, relishing in the trembling of the older man.

“Why?”

“On one hand, I’m a sentimental old man. She’s precious to me. She deserves everything that comes with having a wizarding family, and she’s still young enough for it to mean something,” Abraxas said with a look on his face that meant business. “On the other? This is beneficial to you, Tom. Having a muggleborn girl who was left to rot by Dumbledore and adopted by the patriarch of the richest family in our world sheerly because she melted the heart of an old man as your wife? That’s a narrative that every farmer, housewife and society witch can rally behind.”

“Who’s to say she’s to be my wife?”

“I’m an old man, but I’m not a fool. You have my blessing, not that you’d need it. Do I have yours?”

The men stared off for a moment, and Abraxas kept his eyes open as Tom raked through memories he offered up easily.

“Fucking Dumbledore,” Tom spat after pulling out of his friend’s head.

“I think she would’ve preferred sharing her life story with you herself,” Abraxas said with a small smile. “A little advice on the only place I have you beat, Tom… pretend like you don’t know when she tells you.”

“Noted,” Tom replied with a tight nod. “You can adopt her, but I’ll decide the manner in which it’s made public.

“Of course,” Abraxas said, relief and respect oozing from every pore. “Thank you… my Lord.”

Tom couldn’t help but smirk, knowing the older man had an aversion to calling him the honorific even after undergoing multiple rounds of the cruciatus curse. They’d come to an understanding; Abraxas funds some of Tom’s less than savory ventures and the man lets him live as though he’s under no one’s thumb. The arrangement suited both of their needs.

All Tom could think was that he wasn’t doing this for Abraxas, and that self-admission alone made him want to burn a city to the ground.

\--

“I never thought I’d enjoy having human friends,” Luna exclaimed with a serene smile.

“A high-end lingerie shop in Paris is where you realized this?” Daphne asked with a raised brow, twirling around to admire how her arse and long, thin legs looked in the ice blue corset and crotchless panties she’d put on.

Hermione was uncertain about the girl knowing she was Pansy’s best friend, the dark-haired girl saying she was the only friend that could keep up with her. While that might have been high praise in Pansy’s books, it made Hermione more nervous knowing how difficult she was to get along with. After meeting the Greengrass sisters, however, she was pleased with how delightful they were.

“Nothing like seeing your friends naked to cement their value,” Lune replied, still smiling.

“Speaking of naked… Hermione, get the fuck out here,” Pansy called.

“I’m not sure I’m wearing enough fabric to classify these as undergarments.”

“Get out here, girl!” Astoria called, bouncing her sizable arse cheeks up and down in her hands as she stood in front of the mirror.

“You all are unwell,” Hermione muttered as she stepped out of the fitting room and put one hand over her chest and the other over her nether regions.

“Oh Merlin, you sexy witch!” Pansy purred, moving closer to Hermione to rip her hands away from where they shielded her body. “Why are you hiding all of this?”

“Because I’d lose my job or give an old coot a heart attack on the lift when his blood all rushed to his…” Hermione trailed off, causing the girls to cackle.

“Fifty galleons on Lord Ogden croaking first, he’s been staring at my tits since before I knew what they were,” Daphne said with a shudder.

“My money’s on old man Crabbe if he can even find his dick,” Astoria said and the girls roared with laughter.

Hermione hid her giggles behind her hand and tried to admonish the younger girl. “Tori! It’s not his fault.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Luna asked with a raised brow. “He’s always eating, it seems to be a family trait. I’m certain they were cursed by a gluttonberry many generations ago.”

“I don’t think gluttonberries are real, Luna. But a lack of self control is, and I’m pretty sure our favorite Deputy Minister would suffer from that as well if he saw Hermione’s tight little booty in those garter belts,” Pansy said as she pulled her boobs up to better spill out of her heavily padded pushup bra.

“You’re crass, and I have no idea why I’m here,” Hermione muttered, face turning bright red. She was able to admit to herself that she did look good after having put weight on again. Her slight curves were appealing, and she enjoyed the way that her hips swayed in the dresses Pansy had picked out. The Prophet always seemed to snap the best photos of her and Deputy Minister Riddle, the man walking with purpose while she followed along with swaying hips and short legs made longer by expensive heels; she couldn’t help but clip them and keep them in a well-warded box at the back of her closet.

“Because you need us to look good and get the guy,” Pansy replied nonchalantly. “Now, get the little sales girl back in here so she can take our money.”

“It’s not our money, Pansy. I’m pretty sure you haven’t spent Parkinson money in the entire time I’ve known you,” Hermione observed.

“Reparations, girl. The patriarchy fucks us, so we’ll drain it dry.”

“Cheers to that, ladies!” Astoria shouted with a quick shimmy.

“Whose money are you spending, Tori?” Hermione asked curiously. Abraxas had given her a small velvet pouch before she’d left, pressing a kiss to her cheek and telling her that the bag was linked to his Gringotts account and would automatically replenish. He proceeded to tell her that Pansy knew whose money she was supposed to be spending, which was threat enough for the girl to spend the man’s gold.

“Whichever of Daph’s boyfriends she’s not spending,” the girl shrugged.

“This weekend’s on Marcus for the both of us. We tried something new in bed and then he told me I looked like this freaky green fucker from a movie his sister showed him. The Grounch or something.”

Hermione let out a bark of laughter, unable to hold it in after two glasses of champagne. “How does Marcus Flint know what the Grinch is?”

“His little sister Mila’s a squib, she goes to muggle school and comes home with the weirdest stories.”

The muggleborn was surprised to hear that a pureblood family was comfortable with their daughter living with them, let alone being known publicly as a squib. She’d have to ask Abraxas for details on it.

“As the resident muggleborn here, I promise you don’t look like the Grinch,” Hermione replied with a smile.

“Oh, I know. Adrian reminded me of that over a hot stone massage for two,” Daphne said with a smirk.

The girl was in a triad, making good on two Greengrass betrothal contracts that had been unfulfilled for generations. Adrian and Marcus were, according to the Slytherins, a well-known couple while they were at Hogwarts, and after a drunken night at Malfoy Manor, it became apparent that Daphne was a missing piece they didn’t realize they had. The

“Let’s finish up here and head to the muggle shoppes. The squib stylist I set us up with will be here any minute,” Pansy said after casting a tempus spell.

Hermione let out a groan as she stepped back into the fitting room, but couldn’t help the smile that overcame her face as she listened to her friends bicker and cackle. Nothing was more strange to her than having friends, girlfriends as a matter of fact, who were more interested in her heart than her mind and it felt good. For them… she would suffer the indignity of buying lingerie in Paris.

\--

“Deputy Minister Riddle, welcome.” Bartemius Crouch, Sr. said with a smile, his heavy mustache covering most of his smile.

“Lord Crouch, thank you for meeting with me. I’d like to introduce you to my assistant, Hermione Granger,” Tom said with a sweep of his hand that the girl had grown familiar with.

“Assistant?” the head of DMLE asked with a raised brow. Tom had warned her the man was old-fashioned, the ranks of female aurors tumbling under his leadership being the most blatant indicator of his misogyny. Hermione gave the man a glare and let him know that old-fashioned wasn’t an excuse for old men not moving their mindsets into the 90s, especially those in leadership.

“Secretary, assistant... interchangeable titles,” Tom replied with an easy smile that shocked Hermione. His willingness to lower her place in his world, even if for a conversation with someone else, was a bitter sting.

“I see. If you don’t mind, I’d rather this meeting be man to man. The DMLE is considering some heavy topics that aren’t fit for a lady’s ears, no matter how successful of a secretary she is,” the man said with a patronizing look at Hermione.

“Of course, we wouldn’t want to jeopardize her state of mind this early in the workday. Miss Granger, please head back to the office. I’ll return at half one,” Tom said, giving the girl only a slight smile before turning away.

The girl managed to hold herself together until she’d made it down to the third floor where the Wizengamot offices were. Draco let out a scoff and curse as Hermione rushed into Abraxas’ office and shut the door behind her.

“He’s foul and loathsome, I’m going to kill him,” Hermione fumed, lip trembling pitifully as tears fell.

“Who’s hurt you, princess?” Abraxas asked, standing up and pulling the girl into a hug. The role of pseudo-father, not yet solidified, was easy for him to fill. Though he was a bit nervous… he had never seen Hermione in tears.

“Tom,” the girl said through tears, pressing her face into the man’s expensive shirt. “He kicked me out of the meeting with Crouch. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Oh, my sweet,” Abraxas crooned. “I’m assuming he didn’t act with much tact?”

Hermione shook her head vehemently.

“It won’t make you feel better, but Crouch is a grouchy old man who I’d love to never speak with again. He won’t be around for long, I can promise you that.”

Hermione pulled back at the man’s confidence in that statement.

“Really?”

“Really,” Abraxas said with a smile, pulling the girl to sit down next to him on the loveseat in his office. “He’s old, incompetent and there are people more deserving to lead DMLE than him.”

“I wonder who they’ll pick,” Hermione muttered, her tears already ceasing as she thought through the possibilities.

“I’m not sure, my dear. Time will tell. Now, let an old man take his favorite girl out for lunch.”

“Tom said to meet him back at the office at half one,” Hermione said nervously.

“To hell with that. Every man must learn the consequences of his actions… what’s that squib quote, dear? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?”

Hermione smiled, “That’s the quote, though I’m not sure Shakespeare actually said it.”

“Whatever the case, that’s the spirit of our lunch. Our esteemed Deputy Minister will have to live without you for a few hours, perhaps it’ll lead to a heart of repentance.”

Hermione accepted the man’s arm as they walked out, leaving a confused Draco in their wake. “You sound like a muggle priest, Brax.”

“You shouldn’t have shown me that cathedral in London then, the Bible books were free and I’ve found it quite interesting.”

“Only you would find the idea of eternal damnation interesting,” Hermione muttered fondly.

“I’ve accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior, dear. I have been granted eternal life, my sins are washed clean…”

“I’m sure they are,” Hermione said with an eye roll. “Let’s go eat.”

“The lady’s wish is my command.”

\--

“It’s half two,” Tom said as a laughing Abraxas and Hermione walked into the front office. The same office that Tom had had to keep an eye on for the past hour while his assistant was nowhere to be found. That meant accepting the afternoon mail from the unbelievably wrinkly old woman who always tried to pinch his cheeks and attempting pleasant conversation with Neville Longbottom when he dropped in to see Hermione and didn’t get the hint that Tom wanted nothing to do with him.

“Merlin, we were gone longer than I thought,” Abraxas said with a startlingly devious smile on his lips. “Apologies, Tom. You can have your… secretary back now.”

“Get out,” Tom ordered, voice colder than Hermione had ever heard. Abraxas pressed what he hoped to be a comforting kiss to Hermione’s temple before leaving, sparing one last dark, warning look for the younger man. The Deputy Minister flicked a hand toward the door that slammed at the motion and had to pull his wand out to construct silencing wards that would keep even the nosiest hallway slow-walkers from listening in.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Hermione blurted out quickly, always the first to fold in any situation. She was surprised to find that she cared more about upsetting the man in front of her than actually losing her job even as she cursed her predictable weakness in the face of someone else’s disappointment.

“Then why’d you do it?” Tom asked with a raised brow.

Hermione bristled, “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”

Tom swallowed down his desire to grab the girl by her neck and force her to submit to him.

“I’m not, Hermione. In the future, I’d prefer if you didn’t take three and a half hour lunch breaks. For tonight, you’ll have to stay until everything’s done including rewriting my notes from the Crouch meeting. My quick-quotes quill stopped working midway through.”

The girl couldn’t help but let out a bark of laughter, “Wouldn’t it have been nice if the meeting was fit for ladies, then?”

“Is that what has you in a strop? I warned you about him.”

“If that means you accepting the misogyny of a department head and dismissing me like a flighty bird, then yes, Tom. That is what I mean.”

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Tom crooned with a slight smile on his lips as he silenced her outrage with the twist of a wrist. “You’re going to listen to me, now. That’s a dear. Crouch is a bloody fool who hasn’t touched a woman since his wife fell pregnant thirty-some years ago. He was raised to think he’s better than women despite that being untrue. He’s going to pay. But part of him paying means you and I playing the part. Is that right?”

Hermione huffed, a feeling of bone deep nervousness overtaking her when she realized she was no longer silenced. Who was the man in front of her?

“Yes. I trust that you have a plan for a future I want to be a part of,” she replied honestly without accepting his non-apology.

“Smart answer,” Tom replied approvingly. “I will never harm you. You’re the only one who will ever receive that promise from me, though there are better places for this conversation. Come to my manor for dinner tonight,” the man commanded, leaving Hermione helpless but to nod as she looked at his too perfect face.

\--

“What? She just took her top off?” Hermione said through giggles, tipping her rosé into her mouth. “She’s at least 150!”

“It worked out well,” Tom said with a smirk. “I got what I came there for.”

“Which was?” Hermione asked, blinking slowly up at the man. Wine and Hermione Granger was a dangerous combination; she had only started drinking after graduating Hogwarts and becoming friends with extremely rich, indulgent individuals. The drink always made her feel warm on the inside, like she was floating through life and everything was right in the world.

“A necklace that belonged to me,” Tom replied, hooking a thumb in the silver chain that always hung around his neck.

The girl gasped at the sight of the necklace and jumped up from the other side of the table to get closer to where he sat at the head.

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed as she tripped over her heels, landing with an arm bracing Tom’s thickly corded shoulder and the other on the table, barely missing his plate. “Sorry, I got excited.”

“No need,” Tom murmured lowly, using his free arm to pull the girl fully onto his lap with her legs hanging over his right hip. “You know what this is?”

“I do,” Hermione said breathily, her caramel eyes widening in sudden arousal and trepidation. “Salazar Slytherin’s locket, I read about it in Hogwarts a History. It only opens for his descendants, the third edition of the compendium stated that directions to the Chamber of Secrets are hidden inside of it, but later editions removed that fact since it couldn’t be verified.”

“What if I told you that the third edition was correct,” Tom whispered into her ear, growing hard at the way the girl let out a shocked moan and shivered on his lap.

“You’re a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin?”

“I am, darling,” Tom replied.

“How do you know?” the girl asked, a pouty expression on her face that Tom couldn’t wait to turn to amazement.

Tom winked before saying the word open in parseltongue, the locket that lay against his chest opening immediately.

“Oh, Merlin,” Hermione gasped, running a small, soft hand in reverence across the silver locket that had engraved Latin on the now open plates.

“It’s Tom.”

Hermione giggled, “Stop! You speak parseltongue?”

Tom deigned to reply in the affirmative and instead started speaking, coaxing his closest friend into the room.

“Oh my,” the girl breathed as the largest snake she’d ever seen slithered into the room. “She’s beautiful. What’s her name?”

“Smart little one,” the viper hissed, curling around Tom’s neck and rubbing her face against Hermione’s. The snake flicked her tongue against the girl’s face, and Tom was shocked when she didn’t flinch. “Brave… good girl. Worthy of you, Master.”

“She’s just a girl,” Tom replied, eyes on the girl watching his scaly companion.

“She’s a baby. She’s your mate,” the snake admonished. “Careful.”

“Leave us,” Tom replied with an irritated roll of his eyes. Nagini was the only person he wouldn’t kill for pushing back on him.

“Goodbye,” Hermione said softly. “Does she not have a name?”

“Nagini. She was impressed. You’re the first to not reek of fear when she comes into a room and know that she’s a female.”

Hermione scoffed, “Because no one reads as much as I do. It’s her tail; quite easy to tell. And she’s much too pretty to be a male snake.”

“Charming little one,” Nagine said as she slithered out, if Tom were a guessing man, to curl up in the well-heated mini rainforest he’d fashioned for her upstairs.

“She likes you,” Tom admitted, knowing that visibly warming up towards the girl would go a long way in getting her to stay with him. He didn’t need to be a master legilimens to grasp that she was both attracted to him and wary of him in the same measure. The road to keeping the girl was long, and he didn’t need to be a romantic to know that a one-night-stand wouldn’t get him where he wanted to be.

Hermione nodded and smiled softly, looking to him for what came next.

Tom was more than reluctant to let the girl go, but knew that sleeping with her while she was inebriated would do nothing to bring her closer to him.

“Let’s get you home,” Tom said, standing up and moving the girl to stand on the floor.

“Yes, of course,” Hermione replied, shaking her head as though it’d clear her thoughts. Tom hid a smile at the girl’s adorable move. “Your notes from your meeting with Lord Crouch are on your desk with a new QQQ.”

“I know, Hermione,” Tom said with only a bit of steel in his voice. “You’ve already told me. Expect a long day.”

“Of course, sir,” the girl said with a nod, thoughts of what lay ahead already swarming her mind to the point where she forgot her intense attraction to her boss.

“Goodnight, darling,” Tom said as the girl stepped into the Floo, a small smirk on his lips.

\--

Hermione startled at the bang of the office door opening, knocking her out of the intense concentration she’d had on Tom’s schedule for the following week. What perturbed her even more were the blatantly pleased expressions on Tom and Yaxley’s faces as they walked in.

“Miss Granger,” Yaxley drawled with a wink, following Tom into his office and shutting the door soundly.

Hermione could hear nothing, knowing that her boss always used a silencing charm during meetings. The only indicator of what was going on was when Yaxley and Tom left for the morning’s Wizengamot session and she got a glimpse of now-empty liquor glasses, only the dregs of their drinks at the bottom of the glasses.

She’d always been extremely nosy and working for one of the highest-ranking men in government only exacerbated her natural urges to learn everything about everyone. Just what happened in the followup meeting with Crouch and Head Auror Potter that had the pair either celebrating or drinking away their pain at 11am?

The day proved useless when it came to getting any information, and before she knew it Hermione was being escorted to the Floo by Abraxas for dinner at Malfoy Manor.

It was the first time that Hermione would be meeting his wife and she was a bit terrified by the thought of the woman who she’d only heard about.

“You’ll be fine, my dear,” Abraxas said knowingly, an amused smile on his lips.

“I know, I just don’t know why I’m invited to the one dinner you’ll have with your entire family this year. Lucius is going to make some snide comment about me being rude,” she insisted with a pout.

“The boy will say nothing,” Abraxas promised as he let go of Hermione’s arm as she stepped into the fireplace. “He’s still scared of me.”

Hermione laughed lightly before stepping through and calling out the main foyer of the manor as the man instructed earlier.

“Welcome, Granger. It feels like I only saw you twenty minutes ago,” Draco said with an eye roll as he offered her a hand to help her out of the Floo.

“Happy to see you too, Draco.”

“Is she here?” Abraxas asked as he stepped out of the fireplace, dusting himself off without any pleasantries. He’d just seen Draco and didn’t feel the need to give the boy a welcome.

“Yes, grandfather, she’s already in the dining room with mother and father.”

“No time to waste, then. She’s likely drank half the wine by now,” Abraxas muttered, hooking elbows with Hermione again to escort her to the dining room. The girl’s stomach was in knots. She was a fan of routine and certainty. Walking into a dinner with a family that she wasn’t a part of when she could tell there was bound to be tension… that was not something she wanted to be involved in.

“Hermione, welcome!” a radiant Narcissa Malfoy said happily, standing up from her seat to hug the girl and press kisses to her cheeks.

“Narcissa, lovely to see you,” Hermione replied warmly, truly meaning the words.

Lucius winked at the girl as he pushed his wife back into her seat, Abraxas doing the same for Hermione. The girl was directly next to Livana, putting her closer to the head of the table than Draco which didn’t go unnoticed by her.

“Hello, ma’am, Lady Malfoy. It’s lovely to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you,” Hermione said with a warm smile, turning to look at the beautiful woman next to her.

A Swedish Greengrass, the woman’s hair was surprisingly a pretty red color. The girl made a mental note to ask Astoria and Daphne about where that trait had come into their family line.

“Livana, kära, call me Livana. I’ve read so much about you, I wasn’t sure what to expect,” the woman said with a light accent as she looked over Hermione with probing green eyes. “You’ll do.”

“For what, I may ask?” Hermione asked, her voice sharper than she would’ve liked. Abraxas and Lucius shared an apprehensive look, knowing how the matriarch enjoyed playing with her food.

“Joining the family, of course. Truthfully, you are not what I expected, but the heart wants what the heart wants.”

Hermione pushed back from the table, face turning red. “I think… there’s a misunderstanding. Draco and I are not together.”

Draco choked on his wine. “Granger, ew!”

“Hermione,” Lucius said calmly. “Sit back down and let father talk. No offense mother.”

“None taken,” the woman said, waving a hand as she finished her glass of wine. Through her confusion and embarrassment, Hermione wondered how many she’d had so far.

“Apologies, my dear. We’ve moved from A to Z without stopping, so why not continue on that pattern? I’d like to adopt you, Hermione. With the Malfoy name and resources behind you, your career will flourish.”

Hermione moved to retort the man’s offer and received a finger wagged in her face.

“Let me finish, Hermione. No, this is not charity. This is granting an old man who’s never been told no the only thing he’s never been able to buy- a daughter. You saying yes benefits us both… please say yes.”

The idea of a magical family was more than the little girl that still existed in Hermione’s heart could bear. The thirteen-year-old who kept an eye on the owl delivery every morning and night, thinking that maybe today was the day when the Ministry would write with a family who wanted to adopt her… an owl that never came. The bitter part of her wanted to think that it was too little too late, she was already considered an adult in the wizard and muggle worlds.

But that little girl? She wanted the man who asked her to call him papa months ago. She wanted some semblance of familial, patriarchal protection even though she bucked against everything that the system was. It was a phenomenon that was impossible to explain, but she had her answer. In all the ways that she felt like an outcast from her peers for all 19 years of her life, she now understood how they felt when they ran to their parents after the Hogwarts Express made it to Kings Cross. She felt loved.

“Yes,” Hermione whispered, traitorous eyes filling with tears. “Yes.”

Abraxas’ light blue eyes lit up at the girl’s words, ignoring the rest of his family as he stood up and wrenched the girl from her chair. The hug they shared was one both of them had longed for. It was a scene from the most trite movie Hermione could think of, yet she couldn’t be embarrassed by it. She felt loved for the first time, sue her for being sentimental.

“How sweet,” Livana exclaimed with a clap. “I hate to give a bad impression, but I’d love to sign the papers and take my portkey out before you all eat. It’s girls night.”

“Far be it from me to keep you from your girls,” Abraxas drawled, pressing a kiss to Hermione’s hair as he stepped away and back into business mode. “We have to sign some documents and take them to Gringotts together in the morning.”

The process was quick, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief after the door closed behind Livana.

“And that’s mother,” Lucius said with a small smirk, tipping his glass of wine towards the girl before draining the glass.

“When she says girls…” Hermione trailed off.

“Oh yes,” Draco said with a nod and devious glint in his eyes. “They’re more like women, thankfully, but yes. It’s exactly what you think. Be grateful your parents didn’t ship you off for a week in France where your grandmother didn’t see fit to stop her weekly sex parties.”

“I’ll add that to my short list of reasons why I’m happy my parents abandoned me. Thanks, Draco.”

Lucius and Narcissa covered their laughs.

“Wait… does this make me Aunt Hermione?” the girl asked with a small smile.

“Indeed. We are now siblings, after all,” Lucius said with a genuine smile. “You’ll have even more of a reason to keep Draco in line now that you have a stake in furthering the family line.”

“Oh, yes. He and Luna are top of my list of extracurricular endeavors, that won’t change.”

“We love you even more for it, dear,” Narcissa said primly.

Hermione was more drunk on happiness than wine as she made her way to the Floo with Abraxas, a small smile still in place on her lips.

“I’ve already spoken with Tom, we have an appointment at Gringotts at 12pm,” Abraxas said with a small smile.

“Why is it that you all seem to tell Tom everything important before anyone else?”

“Long story, my dear, for another time. Bring your Gringotts key, we’ll merge your accounts. Also, if you’ll bring your lease so my solicitors can look it over.”

“Why?”

“Well, you’ve already been so kind to an old man, I thought you’d grant one more request… I’d love for you to move into the Manor.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, “You aren’t that old, Brax. That’s no excuse.”

“And that wasn’t an answer, my dear.”

“My kneazle is non-negotiable.”

“Of course Crookshanks can come. I’ve already found an elf who likes animals who’ll care for him.”

“Bless that elf,” Hermione muttered to herself.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you, Hermione. I promise this’ll be a worthwhile decision in the long run.”

“This isn’t just political,” Hermione said with a small smile. Men were so fearful of rejection that they’d turn any conversation on its head to get the hell away from it. “I’ve always wanted a family, and you’ve been that for me even before the papers were signed.”

“I’d go to war for you, my girl. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Hermione whispered, pulling the man into another hug as the foreign words came out of her mouth.

\--

“Good morning. How was your evening?” Tom asked.

“You knew.” the girl said with narrowed eyes and her hands crossed over her chet.

“Hm?”

“Ugh!” Hermione said with an eye roll. “You’re worse than Pansy sometimes with your gossip.”

The man raised an eyebrow, “Watch your tone.”

Hermione was surprised to find she didn’t feel chastised like a child at his words, but more like she was being warned by a dangerous man. From what she’d gathered, she suspected she was.

“I’m sorry,” she said sheepishly. “It’s just frustrating to be continually left out of conversations.”

“You’ll have to trust me when I say it’s safer like this for now, Hermione,” Tom said seriously, eyes drilling into Hermione with a rarely seen sincerity.

“I’ve told you, I trust you Tom.”

“That’s all I ask. I’m headed to my meeting with Lord Shafiq. I need you to schedule a meeting with Lord Crouch and Head Auror Potter for 10am tomorrow on the domestic violence bill. Their assistants should have blocked the time.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, already jotting down notes to herself. “I’m on it.”

“Much appreciated,” Tom replied, leaving her with a smile.

\--

“Let’s go,” Tom said, straightening his collar with his free hand.

“Sir?”

“I need you to take notes at my meeting, it’s too tedious to speak and be expected to jot everything down.”

Hermione nodded, an anxious feeling building in her stomach at the thought of being left to fend for herself once more when Crouch made a derogatory remark towards her.

“Respectfully, Deputy Minister,” Crouch started quietly, but loud enough that Hermione could hear as they stepped into the conference room. The girl averted her eyes from Roger Davies and the older Hufflepuff man who she assumed served as an assistant to Crouch.

“There’s no time for your concerns, Lord Crouch. We need to square up this bill before debate in the chamber today.”

Hermione was silent as she took notes, quill furiously dipping into her inkpot and scrawling across the parchment as the trio of powerful men continued their back and forth on estimated sentencing lengths for witches and wizards convicted of spousal abuse or assault. The girl had figured out weeks before while rewriting Tom’s notes that this was the conversation Crouch didn’t believe a woman should hear. As if countless women didn’t live through abuse every day, the girl remembered thinking bitterly in the moment.

She was so entranced by Tom’s voice as he shared his belief on applying life sentences rather than the kiss that she jumped when the door opened.

“Bartemius Crouch Sr., you’re being summoned for questioning as designated under the probable cause statute.” an auburn-haired auror that Hermione knew to be Travers said with a hint of uncertainty in his voice at taking his boss in.

“What’s this about?” the man said, eyes wide as he looked towards the audience of the Head Auror and Deputy Minister.

“Sir, I have to ask you again to come with us for questioning as designated under the PCS,” Travers said, his nondescript partner stepping into the room as well.

“Come on, Lord Crouch,” Head Auror Potter said with a furrowed brow, wanting to make his men’s duty a little easier. “Just get it over with, I’m sure it’s nothing.”

\--

Hermione let out an incredulous laugh as she looked over the paper the next morning, nearly dropping the mug of tea she held in her right hand.

“Care to share with the class, Granger?” Draco asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Crouch was arrested on account of beating his wife to death,” the girl answered in a quiet voice.

“Junior or senior?”

“The Head of DMLE, Draco,” Hermione replied impatiently, wishing not for the first time that others knew her thoughts and thought processes so she didn’t have to constantly explain herself. “The same man who kicked me out of a meeting weeks ago for worry of scaring me off with talk of domestic violence.”

“The Wizengamot just passed legislation yesterday that incurs a life sentence for premeditated spousal murder,” Draco answered quietly. “Is Crouch going to be the first to face that charge?”

“I guess so,” Hermione murmured as she continued to read, stomach sinking as she read that Corban Yaxley was slated to take over DMLE in the interim.

_“Crouch is going to pay” indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> review keep me writing. let me know your thoughts!!!! follow me on tumblr at http://thiscitychickk.tumblr.com/ asks are opens and I'm taking prompts!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the revolution! Clearly, Hamilton is on the mind. Enjoy!!!!!!

“Does anyone actually care enough about my life for us to be interviewed?” Hermione asked, eyes wide. 

Narcissa and Luna giggled, sharing a look over the table as they often did when Hermione made a comment they found quaint or lacking. Much to the muggleborn’s irritation, that proved to be all of the time. 

“Hermione, not to be crass and speak of private matters, but the Malfoy line is one of the oldest and most prestigious in the world. There is no one at home or abroad who won’t want to know everything there is to know about you.”

“What mum’s putting politely is that we’re rich and powerful, Granger. All of the hotshots around the world will want to woo you with gifts and betrothal contracts,” Draco explained with far less tact than his mother, receiving a firm nod from his own father.

“I’m not marrying anyone who thinks the way to my heart is by sending papa a contract in the mail,” Hermione replied with a dramatic eye roll. “And, for the record, that’s Malfoy to you.”

“Of course not, dear. The interview, however, is non-negotiable. Tom will be over after dinner to discuss the politics of it all.”

“I’m sure he will,” Hermione muttered, annoyed at how involved her boss, love interest, whoever he is, was involved with her transition to becoming a Malfoy. Deep down, she was grateful for Tom’s constant protection in the face of nosy members of the press after the news slowly started spreading that Hermione was now, for all intents and purposes, a Malfoy. 

The girl had changed her last name at both Tom and Pansy’s urging, feeling less than sentimental about shedding the Granger name and taking what felt like her final step into the wizarding world. 

“Bella and Pansy will be over as well to help you get ready,” Narcissa smiled. “Everything will be just fine.”

Hermione nodded at the woman, feeling in her gut that things actually would be just fine for the first time in a long while.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Another morning at Malfoy Manor meant another opportunity for Hermione to be horrified at finding Luna and Draco naked in a hallway.

“Really? The ladies parlour?” Hermione shrieked, hair crackling with magic as her temperature rose.

“The sunlight streams in so perfectly, Hermione. We can’t be blamed,” Luna replied happily, hand wrapped in Draco’s hair and holding his face to her naked chest. The girl knew by now that Draco was unwilling to make eye contact with her, his bloody aunt, when he was naked.

“I just wanted to read before my life is flipped upside down even more,” Hermione muttered as she stormed out and headed back towards her room.

“Time’s wasting, girl,” Pansy said as Hermione walked into the room she’d evacuated only minutes before.

“What are you doing here? The sun is barely up,” Hermione whined, slapping her book down onto a side table. The room she was given at the manor was gloriously beautiful, the walls painted lilac and the snow white duvet being the softest fabric she’d ever felt. Living in a mansion was one of the best moves she’d ever made, not that she’d share that publicly. Her reputation as the bookish, modest one was on the line.

“I know from experience how long that hair takes to tame,” Bellatrix said as she stepped out from Hermione’s ensuite bathroom, a wide toothed comb already in her hands. “No time to waste!”

By the time Hermione had been plucked, prodded and primped, she looked like a high-class version of herself. Not quite a Barbie doll, but a woman who knew how to dress for her body without looking like a total trollop.

“You’re welcome,” Pansy purred with a smirk. “Now go show your man what a Malfoy woman looks like.”

“Man?” Bellatrix asked, sharing an excited look with her sister.

“I don’t have a man,” Hermione replied forcefully with a blush. 

An elf popped into the room, saving Hermione from Bellatrix’s knowing look.

“Hi Mistress Hermione,” the little pink elf said with wide, adoring eyes. Abraxas had brought on an elf for Hermione that’d previously served as the handmaid to an elderly heiress who’d recently died, and everyone was shocked and slightly perturbed at its devotion to the girl.

“Hi Stella,” the girl replied with an equally pleasant look that had Pansy rolling her eyes.

“The writing man is being here for you!”

“Thank you, we’ll head downstairs now,” Hermione replied with a nod, taking a breath and squaring her shoulders.

“Ps and Qs for an elf, only you.” Pansy muttered and yelped at the stinging hex Hermione shot at her back.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hermione had never felt an inkling to AK someone, but the day the Prophet article dropped changed that entirely. Yet another knock sounded on the door, and the girl flung a tired hand towards it to see who was shooting their shot.

“Hello Hermione,” a grinning Terry Boot greeted. “If I knew you worked so close to me, I’d have visited sooner.”

Hermione bit down her comment that they’d spoken twice during their seven years at Hogwarts. “Hi Mr. Boot. May I help you with something?”

“Lunch, if you’re offering.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a Ministry-related request, Mr. Boot.”

“We can discuss work over lunch, if that gets you to sit across from me.”

“Kindly,” Hermione started through gritted teeth. “I’ll ask you to leave.”

“Dinner, then?”

Who knew Ravenclaws could be so bloody annoying?

“No. Leave.”

The girl felt like she was in a Disney movie when Tom strode into the office in all of his glory.

“Everything all right, Miss Granger?” the man asked with assessing eyes.

“Quite. I was just asking Mr. Boot to leave.”

“Yessir,” the young man said with a squeak before turning tail and rushing back into the hallway.

“Thank you,” Hermione groaned as the man shut the door behind him.

“What’s going on?” Tom asked, annoyed that he couldn’t readily see what was ailing his girl.

“The Prophet article came out this morning and every single male in this building has made it their mission to proposition me today.”

Hermione was too busy wallowing in her own annoyance to see the tightness in Tom’s expression.

“The wonders of male chauvinism never cease. I’ll leave my door open in case anyone else decides to join the parade.”

“Much appreciated. I’m much less liable to AK someone if there’s a witness.”

Tom laughed loudly. “Oh, my sweet. You won’t have to lift your wand while you’re with me. I have the torture and murder well in hand.”

Hermione wouldn’t tell anyone about the heat that flowed through her at the man’s statement. She didn’t quite understand it herself.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Hey ‘Mione,” Ron mumbled as he stepped onto the lift.

“Good evening, Ronald,” she replied properly.

“Saw the article in the Prophet,” he replied just as garbled. “Didn’t realize you were so keen on being sold off.”

“I’m not going to pretend I know what that means, Ronald,” Hermione replied, ignoring the affronted gasp from the clearly eavesdropping cart witch who was the only other person on board.

“You basically put an ad in the Prophet saying you’re available and have a good last name… now at least. Just didn’t take you for the type.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation, but here’s one. You didn’t care about me until I was gone, Ronald. I floated alone for years, making do with secondhand books, clothes and not a penny to my name. Instead of offering to help connect me to get a job since your father is on the bloody Wizengamot, you came to watch me scrub tables and toilets.”

Ron cut in, “You are rewriting history to act as though you aren’t the most holier than thou chit I know! You would’ve accepted my da’s help? As if!”

“You could’ve asked, Ronald!” Hermione shrieked, letting her short-fused temper get the best of her. “You expected me to mind after your schoolwork, make sure you woke up for class and ate three square meals… yet you never asked how I was. Not at school and surely not now.”

“If you wanted to be babied then it’s good we broke up,” Ron snorted. “I thought you were self-sufficient.”

“And I thought you had a better sense of self than to think you were great at taking care of yourself. Newsflash: you would’ve failed all of your exams if it wasn’t for me!”

Hermione felt grateful for the beauty of the moment, the lift stopping in the lobby at that very moment. She strut out in her heels, knowing that Ron was shameless enough to watch her hips sway as she made her way to the Floo. What a creep.

“A little more hips and that would’ve been perfect, Granger,” Blaise Zabini said from where he was leaning against a marble wall.

“Ugh, shut up.” Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes at the guy she now considered to be her friend.

“You’re not my type, but I can admire a girl walking away from her ex when I see it.”

“Tall, handsome and equipped with a… Better luck elsewhere,” Hermione replied with a smile, accepting the man’s arm and stepping into the fireplace. She was surprised to see him hop in next to her.

“I take it you’re coming to dinner?” she asked drily as they arrived at the Manor.

“Got it in one,” Blaise replied, linking arms with her again as they walked down the hallway.

“My dear,” Abraxas crooned as the pair walked in, pressing a kiss to Hermione’s cheek. The girl hugged him for longer than she normally would’ve in front of a crowd, but she needed comfort after the shitty day she’d had.

“Papa,” Hermione replied with a weak smile, willing herself to hold back the tears that had been threatening to fall all day.

The man looked at her in concern after pushing in her seat and sitting back at the head of the table.

“So,” Pansy started in, a devious smile on her face. She shook off her betrothed’s hand from her shoulder. “How many marriage contracts came in today, Lord Malfoy?”

“Pansy!” Narcissa, Daphne and Luna admonished at the same time.

“If I didn’t believe that you lot wouldn’t rifle through my office, I’d say it’s private. Unfortunately, I don’t believe that. So seventy three.”

“Seventy three!” Daphne crowed while shaking her head. “Hot damn, Granger.”

“It’s Malfoy,” Hermione said with the roll of her eyes. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d love to talk about anything but the slovenly, slobbering boys who wrote in and walked in to sexually harass me all day.”

Pansy let out a squeak, eyes focused behind Abraxas’ head.

“I heard nothing about sexual harassment taking place in my office, Hermione.” Tom’s voice rang out icily.

Hermione had the decency to look down as she blushed. “Maybe that was a bit dramatic, but… it was a long day. I’d prefer not to talk about it and focus on eating.”

“We’ll discuss later,” Tom replied, not allowing the girl the opportunity to get out of the conversation as he sat down to the only open seat at the table to the left of Abraxas. Directly across from Hermione, of course, so she’d have to catch his angry eyes throughout the meal. She prayed to the God she didn’t believe in that it would only be five courses.

“Draco is joining daddy and I on a trip to establish communication with the Loch Ness monster,” Luna offered in the stone cold silence of the room.

“The what?” Theo asked.

“I thought that was muggle folklore,” Hermione replied.

“Oh no,” Luna exclaimed while shaking her head, wavy blond hair moving around her face. “Nessie is quite real, she’s just never come out to speak with anyone. She is quite empathic and can sense the fear that surrounds visitors. Daddy and I think we’ll have a real chance at getting her to communicate.”

“How fun,” Narcissa beamed. “Your first trip as a couple, and you’ll even be chaperoned. We’re so proud of you, aren’t we Lucius?”

“Quite proud,” Lucius replied with a stiff smile. “The Malfoy properties are of course open for you if you’re properly chaperoned.”

Draco rolled his eyes at his father’s blatant attempt of persuading them to take a Malfoy-approved trip. 

“We’re keen for a week at the German manor in the mountains,” Draco offered. “Luna watched this muggle film that’s taped out there.”

“The Sound of Music!” Hermione piped up. “I’d love to go if you need a chaperone.”

“Lovely,” Luna replied. “I’m sure we might even see a yeti if we time it right!”

“I’m in,” Hermione stated with a decisive nod.

“I forgot about that movie,” Tom mused with a small smile. “Julie Andrews is a squib, you know.”

Hermione gasped, “What? Absolutely no way.”

“A muggle? That talented?” Tom asked with a raised brow.

“That’s tosh, but I can’t believe it! Who would’ve guessed.”

“It’s all in the eyes,” Luna said, with a faraway look of her own. “She has the most magical look in her eyes… she’s a lovely lady, a Lovegood some ways back in her family line.”

“We're all related in some way, inbreeding is the name of the game,” Blaise murmured. “Glad to do my part to buck the trend.”

“Two men can have a baby if you try hard enough,” Luna said. “Daddy can tell you all about it.”

“I think I’m good for now,” Blaise drawled.

“Gentleman, unfortunately we’re closing in on our meeting and will have to hold on dessert. Ladies, if you’ll excuse us,” Abraxas directed as he stood up from the table.

“Meeting?” Hermione asked quietly, looking at the other women who didn’t look surprised.

“Just a bit of a gentleman’s club,” Tom murmured as he stood up. “Be glad you don’t have to partake.”

Hermione let out an irritated noise the moment the door shut behind the men. “Why do I always feel like we’re left out of everything as women?”

Narcissa let out a soft sigh. “Some things, darling, we’re better off not knowing.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hermione couldn’t help it. She was nosy by nature and had the awful desire to know everything about everything and everyone.

When she woke up to the sound of countless voices in the foyer? She couldn’t not investigate.

She quickly threw on a dressing gown over her nightgown and ran to peek over the balcony, knowing full well that she looked much like a little girl waiting for Santa Claus.

She took note of everyone who walked out of the ballroom, grateful for her eidetic memory as a ridiculous amount of people seemed to be there. Why wasn’t she invited? Or Narcissa, Pansy, Daphne and Luna for that matter?

As the trickle of people slowed, she tiptoed down the stairs and looked into the ballroom to see Abraxas, Tom and Corban Yaxley. The last man, the new head of DMLE, was covered in blood. Hermione couldn’t help but gasp.

“Bugger,” Yaxley muttered, much too quiet for Hermione to hear.

Tom spoke first. “Hermione, what are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same,” she retorted, much quicker on the draw than she should’ve been. “Er, I mean… I heard voices. Now I see blood. What’s going on?”

“Just a bloody nose, girl,” Yaxley replied, quickly waving his wand over himself to remove the blood from his extremely expensive shirt. “Have to head out, early morning and all.”

“Sure,” Hermione replied slowly. What the hell was going on?

“Go back to bed, Hermione,” Tom ordered with a tight jaw.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child!”

“Abraxas, if you’ll leave us.”

The man gave a long look to Hermione before relenting.

“Goodnight, dearest,” he whispered with a kiss to her cheek. The large room was full of tension as the double doors clicked shut.

“You won’t talk back to me in front of others, Hermione.”

“Then don’t treat me like a child, Tom!”

The man strode two steps so he was directly in front of her, tilting her chin back with two fingers.

“I’m not treating you like a child, I’m treating you like everyone else.”

“Maybe I don’t want that!”

Tom’s dark eyes turned predatory.

“Tell me what you want.”

Hermione surged up onto her bare toes and pressed a kiss to Tom’s warm lips, feeling as though she exemplified Gryffindor courage for the first time since the sorting hat was plopped on her head.

She didn’t feel a spark as their lips met, but more of a fire consuming her. Tom’s large hands cupped her arse, urging her to jump and wrap her legs around him. Which… she did, feeling much like a woman of the night. She’d ruminate on her actions later, content for now to just feel Tom’s hands massaging her bum and his tongue trailing down the side of her neck.

“Tom,” she whimpered, pushing her breasts into his chest for some sort of friction. Was this what sexual attraction felt like? Her scant kisses with Ronald Weasley felt like a wet mop in comparison.

“Hermione,” the man moaned, taking the soft, sensitive skin of her neck between his teeth and biting down. 

“You’re distracting me,” Hermione replied breathlessly. “Why wasn’t I invited tonight?”

“It’s… complicated,” Tom replied, still pressing kisses to her neck before groaning. “Fucking stone age dressing gown, how am I supposed to get this off of you?”

“Just rip it, papa will buy more.”

Tom let out a sigh, “The mood is officially killed. We must take this slow, Hermione. The implications of involvement with me, let alone your position in my office…”

“It’s only a dangerous power-dynamic if I feel that I’ll lose my job or tarnish my reputation by not being with you. I don’t feel that way.”

“Regardless, Hermione. Consent is a two-way street, and we will move down it slowly. Together.”

“Of course,” she replied, affronted. “Don’t put me down, though. The ground is freezing.”

Tom let out an incredulous laugh at the girl’s change of subject and walked over to the plush, throne like chair he had been sitting in earlier and sat down.

“Much better,” Hermione replied, knowing she had to be running on adrenaline at the moment to not be losing her mind. “Now, tell me what’s going on.”

“Oh, I’d say… A dash of insurgency and a pinch of a coup.”

“Is this a recipe or an uprising?” she asked, voice shrill. “Are you overthrowing the government? How am I so stupid not to notice…”

“Don’t let me hear you calling yourself stupid,” Tom chastised, shaking a strong thigh under Hermione to get her attention. “If I wanted you to notice, you would’ve noticed. I need you to trust me.”

“I trust you, Tom,” Hermione replied with a serious gaze, righting herself so she was sat up straight on his lap. “Now… I need you to trust me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are the only thing that keep me going - let me know your thoughts and where you see this headed! Thanks so much for reading.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday, all! I hope everyone is safe and healthy and feeling good as we head into another week. Reviews keep me alive - I love everyone's speculation. It's like you all know that Tom Riddle is a shady, evil guy :)
> 
> Thank you so much to my beta (!) CatzRko0L for keeping this on track!

Hermione couldn't decide whether ‘the day after’ being a Saturday was a blessing or a curse. She woke up with a start, letting out a groan. What had possessed her to attack her boss last night?

After cleaning her teeth, she felt a bit more in control of her senses. Tom never hesitated to walk away when women flirted with him- would he really allow her to kiss him if he wasn’t interested?

The thought of him being interested only caused her to spiral more. What about her job? What about Tom’s job and ambitions? What would papa say?

She needed to unload on someone, but who?

“Stella?” Hermione called.

“Oh, Mistress Hermione is being awake! Stella is been waiting… she is missing you!” the elf squealed, spinning around in a happy circle before hugging her mistress.

Hermione let out a laugh, “I missed you too, Stella. Can you ask Narcissa if she can come upstairs?”

“Oh, yes. Stella is getting Miss Cissy now!”

A knock on the door sounded only moments later. Hermione would’ve been more self-conscious over the fact that she was still wearing her nightgown if not for the turmoil she was still in. Better to die of a heart attack in a nightgown than an uncomfortable dress, right?

“Hermione, darling?” Narcissa asked as she peeked around the door.

“In here, Narcissa,” Hermione replied, sitting down on the L-shaped leather couch in the open living room attached to her office. Stella was humming while making her bed and cleaning up the small mess on her dresser, drawing a small smile from the blonde Malfoy woman.

“Oh! What’s happened?” the woman asked, holding a hand to her chest. Hermione blushed in shame.

“I’m… a little out of sorts and don’t know who else I can trust.”

Narcissa sat down right next to Hermione immediately, running well-manicured nails through the girl’s curls.

“That’s what I’m here for, dear. I’ve often told Lucius that my skills of discretion were put to waste with raising Draco. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I may have engaged in relations with my boss last night,” Hermione rushed out.

“Repeat that.”

“I… kissed Tom last night.”

Narcissa’s eyes lit up. “Hermione, tell me more!”

“Maybe you can fill in the missing pieces, but I woke up in the middle of the night to noises from downstairs. I went down to investigate what was going on and got into a tiff with Tom that led to kissing. And now, I have to wait until Monday to know if we’ve made a massive mistake or not,” the girl groaned, hiding her face in her hands as she contemplated the possibilities. Rejection. Termination. Lifelong embarrassment. She had no idea what was the worst option.

“None of that, I’ll hold a dinner tonight in celebration of… mine and Lucius’ 19-year anniversary! It’s next Tuesday.”

“Is that a thing?”

Narcissa laughed, “It is tonight. Now, let’s fetch Pansy. We have some shopping to do.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Hermione breathed, pulling the woman in for a tight embrace.

“As I said, dear, my skills were put to waste with a son.”

xxxxxxxxx

“Hermione,” Tom greeted as she walked by the Floo foyer in a perfectly timed move by Narcissa. The woman schemed more than her son. “You look lovely.”

The girl smiled shyly, tamping down a full-body shiver at the way the man was looking up and down her body. Pansy and Narcissa had commandeered an emergency portkey to Paris, claiming that it was indeed an emergency. Not that Abraxas asked when signing for it, of course. He’d learned years ago that it was better not to ask the women in his life questions.

The dark green dress she was wearing hugged her hips before flaring out to her knees and held tightly to her breasts. She looked good enough to eat, if Pansy’s observations were to be trusted.

“Thank you, Tom,” the girl replied, standing still as the man stepped into her space.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” the tall man admitted as he ran a long finger down Hermione’s perfectly made up cheek. “We’ll have a drink after dinner in your sitting room.”

“Yes,” Hermione breathed. “That sounds good.”

The girl jumped backwards as the Floo sounded and none other than Severus Snape skulked out, black robes swishing behind him. Tom grit his jaw tightly, clearly annoyed by the interruption. Hermione soaked it in like a sponge.

“Professor! Lovely to see you,” Hermione greeted politely. The man had loathed her for most of her Hogwarts career, joining most of the student body in their annoyance at her eagerness to succeed. They’d come to a tentative truce her sixth year when she’d offered up her potions skills to free him of his brewing for the hospital wing. It was only then that he let up on her, instead offering caustic advice to keep her mouth shut if she ever wanted to be hired. She was grateful for his own brand of caring. 

“Miss Granger, Tom. Grateful we can all come together to celebrate such a landmark occasion,” the man drawled with a sigh.

“You know I enjoy the opportunity to sit for a three hour dinner as much as you do, Severus. Why don’t we head downstairs to start the clock,” Tom replied with a tight smile, offering his arm to the small woman beside him. 

Upon their arrival to the dining room, Narcissa quickly moved to greet Severus, a delighted smile on her face. She always counted it as a win when she got the hermit out of his lab.

“Ah, Severus! We’re so glad you could find time in your schedule. I apologize for the last minute invitation, Lucius has to travel next weekend,” Narcissa replied, knowing her husband wouldn’t question her excuse for the last-minute dinner.

“I wouldn’t miss the opportunity to celebrate this glorious anniversary for the world,” Severus replied with a fond scowl, accepting Narcissa’s hug and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

“Professor Snape is right, what a glorious anniversary! As many as two ancient cultures believe 19 to be the most powerful number,” Luna offered, accepting the sweet smile Draco offered.

“Then let’s begin our celebration,” Abraxas commanded as Tom pulled out Hermione’s chair before sitting to her left, directly next to the Malfoy patriarch from where he was at the head of the table. His stomach had been growling for thirty minutes, and he knew he’d have to suffer through the meager food provided during the first few courses before substantive options were provided. He often dreamt of a life where he was living in smalltown America, eating at all-you-can-eat buffets as often as he pleased. Perhaps one day.

xxxxxxxxx

“Do you… want a drink? Perhaps some tea? Or whiskey… or gin?” Hermione asked nervously, wondering how the hell Tom felt comfortable enough relaxing on her couch like it was his own as she paced the room.

“Sit. Now.” Tom replied in a commanding tone. Hermione moved to sit in the lone armchair before the man patted a hand against his very expensive trousers.

“Hi,” Hermione breathed as she instead sat on the man’s lap, the only lap she’d ever sat on, if she were being honest.

“Calm yourself. If I was the type to get nervous, you’d have me extremely so.” Tom replied, pulling Hermione closer to him.

“I am at a loss here, Tom,” Hermione admitted, more vulnerable than she wanted to be. “This is out of my wheelhouse.”

“I don’t think anyone’s fully comfortable with this,” Tom replied, pressing a kiss to Hermione’s neck. “As I said last night, I need you to just trust me.”

“That’ll require some more information than what I have. What is going on Tom? Are you trying to take out Shacklebolt?”

The man sighed like he was aggrieved to have to even explain himself. It had Hermione on edge.

“There are those inside the ministry, including myself, that are unimpressed with the reign of the light families. They’ve disregarded our traditions in favor of skating by and spending money on lavish, unnecessary expenditures like a goblin steel statue in the ministry foyer and new mattresses at Hogwarts. We’re no longer seen as a driving force in any international conversations. We’re weak. We’re greedy. The great consensus is that change is needed to restore our government to its rightful place and better the lives of all people.”

“Am I right to assume that you’re leading this… resistance?”

“Yes,” Tom purred, pressing another kiss to her neck. “I can think of no one more worthy to lead the charge at my side.”

“What’s that even mean?” Hermione breathed, anxiety and arousal filling her in one fell swoop.

“Every movement requires a leader. It also requires the figure head’s better, softer half.”

“Me? No one wanted me to work for them, Tom. No one’s going to look at me as some… vision of virtue and charismatic leadership,” Hermione laughed, shaking her head.

“On the contrary, my darling. You embody everything that average people value - you’re hardworking, kind, virtuous and beautiful. Envying you will be easy.”

“You make it sound like I’m the next Jackie O,” Hermione replied with a snort and shake of her head.

“When these people have had ugly, wrinkled old hens as their first lady? You are Jackie O, Hermione.”

“You’re the only man who can keep up with me. That must count for something, despite the fact that I think you may be completely bonkers.”

Tom smiled predatorily, “I know what I want and it’s mine for the taking. If that makes me mad, then so be it.”

Hermione sighed, shaking her head before laying it in the crook of Tom’s neck. She couldn’t help but wonder if his legs were going numb with her weight. She kept her query to herself, though, not willing to separate from the man for even a moment.

“What about my job? People will talk, Tom. It’s… improper.”

The man smiled widely. 

“I have a plan for that.”

“Which is?”

“Better left a surprise, unfortunately. I’ll need your… emotions raw in the moment.”

The girl scoffed. “Am I just a pawn to you, Tom?”

“No, my sweet. You’re my queen.”

The kiss he gave her next had her believing him against every bit of commonsense screaming at her to run far, far away from the man with ice cold eyes that only ever melted in her presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a comment, any comment! They're fuel that keep me heading toward the finish line. We have 4-6 chapters of this fic left. Up next on the Tomione front is looking to be a present-day American muggle mafia fic. Say that 5 times fast.
> 
> My tumblr is thiscitychickk.tumblr.com - send me a question / thought / prompt. My inbox is open :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay here- my job is constantly hectic and I haven't had time to write. Love you all and hope you're staying safe and healthy. Enjoy! Tomione is full steam ahead in romance and villainy next chapter :)

“Equinox gala? What does that even mean?” Hermione scoffed as she took another sip of wine.

“Exactly what you just said,” Pansy drawled with an eye roll.

“What my delicate flower means to say is that wizards have long believed that there is great power in the spring equinox. In ancient times, harvests bloomed, animals bred, and the land thawed from a long winter following the spring equinox. Their continued survival allowed us to remain prosperous, so we celebrate renewal, cleansing and continued prosperity every March,” Theo replied, voice as patient as always while smoothing things over for the hell spawn he was doomed to marry.

“And what? Everyone who isn’t a muggleborn is invited?”

“Just about,” Draco shrugged, receiving a sharp look from Luna.

“You’re invited this year,” Blaise said cheerily, tipping his own chardonnay-filled gas at Hermione.

“I don’t know how that’s supposed to make me feel better,” Hermione muttered. “So… even the Weasleys are invited?”

“Yup,” Pansy replied, popping her p in the way that irritated Hermione so, so very much.

“How embarrassing. How did I make it through seven years of school without realizing that none of my friends were telling me anything? I sat at Hogwarts with bloody Filch and Hagrid while everyone and their mother was partying like it’s 100 BC!”

“Channel that anger,” Luna soothed with a nod. “Just remember who left you out to dry. For the record, daddy and I’ve never been to one of these. We have our own celebrations with the creatures on our land.”

Draco kissed the girl’s wild blonde hair that looked so much like his own, “Not this year, though.”

“No, I suppose not. Daddy’s a little upset to miss out on the wrackspurts’ mating ceremony, but Draco’s giving him a pegasus, abraxan and ancient writings on manticores for my bride price. He’ll get over it.”

“Bride price?” Hermione whisper-shrieked, conscious of the fact that they were in a wine bar in Diagon Alley. “She’s not a cow!”

“No, no she’s not. She’s much more expensive than a cow, more like an ancient sphinx or a pregnant unicorn,” Draco mused.

“I quite like the pregnant unicorn comparison, though I’d only tolerate Hermione if that were true.”

Hermione’s face was bright red by the time the jaws of her friends dropped.

“What the bloody fuck, Granger?” Pansy shrieked, eyes gleaming with mirth. “You’re a virgin?”

“Nope,” Hermione replied, grabbing her purse and standing up.

“How?” Draco asked, looking like a gaping fish. “I haven’t met anyone who’s made it through fourth year without giving it up!”

Hermione stormed off, trusting that no one would follow her. She wanted to groan when she saw Lucius perched on a couch in the Floo foyer as she stepped through the fireplace.

“Hermione? Are you okay?” the man asked, standing up as if to help the gir while his hands fluttered uselessly in front of him. As if he could take away her mortification and anger.

“No,” Hermione fumed, unable to reign in her furious temper. “Your son is a bloody git.”

“That’s… not wrong. Come sit, Dobby will bring tea,” Lucius soothed, wrapping a brotherly arm around his sister. As brotherly as he could be. “Let me take your cloak.”

Hermione had turned from anger to tears by the time she sat down and was pleased to see that Lucius wasn’t panicked at the sight of a crying female.

“Let it out, there’s a girl,” Lucius crooned, stroking the girl’s curls.

“I hate being so emotional,” Hermione said after finally feeling cried out. Lucius made her a perfect cup of tea that she breathed in the steam from before taking a small sip.

“For what it’s worth, I find it rather refreshing,” Lucius replied. “Most women in our society are raised to be buttoned up and unemotional. Emotion is what drew me to Narcissa… she was a bundle of joy while her sisters were walking around like dark clouds were constantly over their heads.”

Hermione scoffed, “I’m crying because I’m different! Every day presents another reminder as to why I don’t fit in, and no one seems to mind rubbing it right in my face.”

Lucius was quiet for a moment. “Your… uniqueness might save us all, Hermione. You’re everything we’ve been waiting for.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It’s a tale as old as time…. the hardworking man who’s worked his way up the chain to Minister of Magic with a doting, quiet wife who won’t speak up on anything of importance. Nothing changes, people become complacent, they believe that our society is working well without any real upheaval. Muggleborns are pushed to the outskirts of societies for the incompetent, lazy sons of the Minister’s cronies, and aren’t deemed important enough to know our people’s rituals and history. The status quo isn’t working, Hermione. We don’t need an obedient, ditzy wife on the arm of our next Minister. We need you.”

“You act as though I’m some vanquishing hero, Lucius. I have less than six months of Ministry work under my belt and I’m the assistant to the man that you think I’m going to marry. All of my classmates ignored me at school unless they needed help with essays and my professors pretended that I didn’t exist. What makes you think everyone else will care about what I have to say?”

“I promise you that everyone who’s ever doubted you or spoke ill of you will regret it,” Lucius replied with an icy look in his light eyes.

“Why do you keep saying that?” Hermione asked, resting her head on Lucius, no, her brother’s, shoulder.

“Because, my dear… it’s true.”

xxxxxxxxx

“Hermione,” Tom greeted as he walked back in from the afternoon’s Wizengamot session and spelled the door shut. “I have no idea what is happening, but Shacklebolt just asked if you could sit in on a meeting. I assume it’s about the appropriations legislation that they’d kept hidden away.

Hermione’s stomach dropped at the man’s uncharacteristic display of uncertainty. “What should I do?”

Tom let out a small laugh at the girl’s honest response, “You go to the meeting and report back immediately. It’s up in the conference room on the Minister’s floor.”

“Who else will be there?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. They won’t try and kill you on Ministry property, if that’s what you’re worried about. Take a drink of water, grab a quill and parchment and head upstairs.”

The muggleborn took a shuddering breath. What did they want with her that they wouldn’t allow Tom to sit in on? Why her?

She was shaken out of her thoughts by a strong hand grabbing her chin.

“Hermione… calm yourself. Spiraling doesn’t get you anywhere you want to go.” Tom ordered, his voice tinted with the steely tone that had her pressing her thighs together.

“You’re right, but it doesn’t help anything,” Hermione muttered, pressing her face into Tom’s chest.

The man pressed a kiss onto her newly-tamed curls. Narcissa Malfoy had done some veritable magic on his girl. She didn’t need to look better, just… more presentable. Narcissa succeeded with the task.

“I’m always right,” Tom murmured without a hint of humour in his voice, weaving a large hand into Hermione’s curls. “You need to go. You’re going to be just fine. Whatever it is, keep a cool head, siphon out whatever information you can get and then come back to me. Go now, Hermione.”

“Yessir,” Hermione said automatically, blushing when she realized what she said.

Tom only winked, running a long finger down her cheek before looking at her expectantly. Hermione gathered parchment, her favorite ink and a quill before heading upstairs.

Xxxxxxxxx

“Ah, Miss Granger,” a smiling Fabian Prewett greeted. Hermione knew him from the few Weasley family gatherings she’d attended, not that he’d ever acknowledged her presence there.

“Mr. Prewett, nice to see you,” Hermione smiled tightly. “It’s Malfoy, now.”

“So formal,” the man teased, taking a step too close to her person. “Ron always did say you were by the books…”

Hermione only nodded, trying her best not to roll her eyes while thinking about the drivel her ex surely shared with his family over the years.

She stood in the corner of the room, extremely grateful when Minister Shacklebolt and his entourage walked in only moments later. Nothing was worse than an awkward silence.

“Ah, Miss Granger,” Minister Shacklebolt greeted her in the exact same way as his colleague. The smile Hermione gave him was only slightly less stiff. Figured that no one would deem it necessary to greet her by her proper name.

The man waited for a moment before realizing Hermione wasn’t going to reply.

“Let me introduce you to Mafalda Hopkirk, the head of the Improper Use of Magic; Fabian Prewett, Undersecretary for Magical Education; Head Auror James Potter; and of course you know Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.”

“Pleasure to see you all,” Hermione replied, trying not to curl her lip at the uppity woman who had embarrassed her months ago at the restaurant. Why was Dumbledore there?

“Miss Granger, glad to see you doing so well. Not that I ever had a doubt, one of the brightest Hogwarts has ever seen,” Albus Dumbledore greeted, expression as blandly cheerful as always. Hermione loathed everything about the man.

“Thank you, sir,” Hermione intoned, moving to sit down as Fabian Prewett pulled out a chair for her. She wasn’t stupid, she noticed that none of their assistants or lower-level staffers were in the room. Just what did they have to share? Were they bringing her in on the budget?

The girl knew that the bill had been kept under wraps and that Tom was purposely kept out of discussions by Kingsley and his minions. Nothing was ever held well under wraps, but this bill? Not a peep.

Tom had been strung tight for the past few days and Hermione was surprised to see that he opened up ever-so-slightly to her in this time. She felt powerful knowing that the man was willing to share a little about his emotions with her for the first time, though she’d like the emotions to be a little less broody.

“We’ve noticed the good work that you’ve done over the past few months, especially with someone as… traditional, shall we say, as Tom.” Kingsley began. Hermione had to bite her tongue to not correct the man on the casual way he addressed her boss… her lover? Focus, Hermione.

“Thank you.”

“That’s why we are hoping to seek your advice on a major tenet of the upcoming appropriations bill, both as a rising star in the Ministry and a muggleborn.”

There it was. What were they up to?

Hermione nodded. Kingsley passed around sheets of parchment, though she was fully aware the others at the table knew exactly what was printed on the sheets.

Hermione was grateful for her eidetic memory as she scanned the parchment at warp speed.

“What… is this?” she asked slowly.

“Godric, you’re fast,” Kingsley smiled. The others looked up from their polite reading of the paper they’d surely already memorized. “Though it’s more far-reaching than a normal appropriations package, we’ve decided to roll up our intended changes for both Hogwarts and incoming muggleborns into the bill. We would love your thoughts as a muggleborn, it’ll help us know what to expect when we unveil the bill on Thursday.”

Hermione swallowed down her panic, knowing that her performance weighed on more than just her. “If I may... this seems quite drastic, Minister. What is the impetus for… a muggleborn registry?”

The man nodded, his dark, bald head glinting in the lights of the conference room. “Headmaster Dumbledore and I have been aware for years of the struggles that our muggleborn students face. They come into this world 11 years after half-bloods and purebloods with little-to-no knowledge of our customs, etiquette and history. Our solution is the simplest and fairest… we institute a registry that has every muggleborn’s name on it to ensure they are being looked after. Equalizing educational outcomes regardless of blood, if you will. Albus?”

Dumbledore looked at Hermione with a patronizing look she knew all too well from the countless meetings she’d had with adults who told her it just wouldn’t work out.

“Dear, I know that your… upbringing wasn’t the most ideal transition into the wizarding world. If we have backstops in place, we can prevent that happening from anyone else. Doesn’t that sound agreeable?”

Hermione couldn’t help but blush with shame at the way her former headmaster, who’d spent no time with her as a student outside of the few meetings he’d been forced to have after she was left by her parents, aired her dirty laundry out in front of the highest-ranking officials in her workplace.

“Without details, sir, I can’t be sure of that. Your proposal is vague, and I know I won’t be the only one with questions.”

Mafalda Hopkirk cut in with a sigh, her jowls shaking at the movement. “The concept is simple… we establish a guardianship system so that wizarding families have custody over Hogwarts students, giving our government authority over all students during the school year as well as the power to pull students from potentially dangerous muggle households. There will also be a mandatory immersion experience during the winter and spring holidays at magical households for all muggleborn students, though they’ll be able to return to their homes if deemed suitable over the summer hols. It’s been a long time coming and will cut down my department’s headaches when first years show off their wands to cousin Hilda and uncle Larry over Christmas hols.”

Hermione was… shocked? Dismayed? Affronted? What the bloody hell was going on?

Head Auror Potter interjected with a smile Hermione knew he thought to be kind, though he only looked patronizing. What a common thread that was turning out to be among men in power. “Hermione, Harry’s shared much of what you went through… a registry would ensure that no young boy or girl has to deal with family troubles again. The tenet also puts forward funds for the DMLE to oversee both scheduled and random home visits for muggleborn students as well as funds for indigent families. No one will have to struggle again… what a relief that would be for all of us.”

“Who would have access to this registry? Would current students be grandfathered in?” Hermione asked, trying to channel Tom’s shrewd questioning abilities and keep herself from tears.

“The registry would be publicly accessible so that families can have informed decisions on what students need to have magical immersion experiences over the holidays. Current students wouldn’t be grandfathered in, they need to be brought into the magical world in the same way that first years do,,” Shacklebolt replied.

“I find it odd that Lord Yaxley wasn’t invited to this meeting as head of DMLE,” Hermione said suddenly, noting that Shacklebolt gave her a friendly smile.

“We are all too aware of Lord Yaxley’s potential to leak out our plan before Thursday’s unveiling… Head Auror Potter is in charge of our auror corp and well-in-hand to provide the advisory opinion we need.”

Hermione raised a brow before turning back to her questioning. “Will only students be added to this registry?”

“Not currently, no,” Fabian Prewett replied for the first time. “Though that is a question we’ve been floating back and forth on, to tell you the truth. The same problems that muggleborn students have with their families can very well occur later in life. Nearly two-thirds of muggleborns marry muggles and over seventy percent are employed in the muggle world according to a study from three years ago. If we have up-to-date data on where their families live, we can keep tabs on any potential familial disputes or breaches of the Statute of Secrecy.”

“Your wife will be on it,” Hermione said, looking at James Potter. She bit her tongue after, her mouth moving faster than her brain.

James Potter only shrugged. “It’s for the greater good of our people. My Lily is happy to be an example of an upstanding citizen.”

Hermione nodded. They were absolutely insane and drunk with power. “Those are all of my questions for now.”

Dumbledore clapped his hands, “Wonderful, just wonderful. As we thought, this proposal is pretty airtight. Thank you for your valuable insight, Miss Granger.”

Hermione nodded with a small smile, gathering her parchment. She’d written nothing but the date, having been in shock for the entire meeting.

“We’ll also have to ask that you don’t share what you heard today until the bill is dropped later this week. You understand, I’m sure,” Kingsley smiled, the slightest hint of a threat in his expression as he took the parchment from in front of her.

“Of course, sir.” Hermione replied, keeping her mind blank. She didn’t trust anyone in the room.

“We’ll be in touch about speaking at our unveiling of the legislation, Miss Granger. ” Kingsley replied, holding an arm out for her to leave. She walked quickly, wanting nothing less than to share the lift with anyone in the meeting. She needed Tom.

She barely shut the door to their office before collapsing on the couch, grateful to see that Tom was in there alone and that he moved quickly towards her.

“Sweetheart,” Tom said, almost automatically at the sight of a harried, scared-looking Hermione. He recoiled a bit as if surprised by his emotion for the girl, but quickly sat on the couch next to her with only a slight stiffness. “What’s wrong?”

“Just… look. I can’t,” Hermione whimpered, staring into Tom’s eyes in explicit permission.

It took him only a few minutes to pick out everything he needed to know, his face turning ice cold.

“Calm yourself, Hermione,” Tom ordered, voice only slightly comforting. “This won’t pass the Wizengamot.”

“How?” Hermione hyperventilated, pressing her face into the man’s shoulder in a way she’d allow herself to be mortified over later.

Tom couldn’t deal with her overflow of emotion. “Don’t question me. You can fall apart later, but we have two hours left in the work day. Pull yourself together, Hermione. I will protect you, nothing is going to happen.”

“Okay,” she said, taking gulping breaths. “I’m fine.”

“Good girl,” Tom praised calmly. “Now, you’re going to owl Abraxas to set up a full meeting for tonight and then finish up next week’s meeting schedule. You’ll finish two glasses of water while you work.”

Hermione nodded and stood up. Rules and directives had her feeling almost back to rights. How could Tom read her so well? She gave the man a weak, yet grateful smile when he dropped her reusable water bottle on her desk, the loud noise indicating it was free. Their pureblood friends were extremely confused by the large water dispenser in the corner of their office and had snickered through Hermione’s explanation as to why they received a weekly water shipment to the muggle entrance of the Ministry. The curly-haired girl was happy to let them continue to drink their mystery wand water. She took a long sip of water and picked up her quill. She had work to do.

Xxxxxxxxx

“Just shut up and let him talk!” Pansy shrieked, silencing the questions that were echoing around the Malfoy Manor’s main ballroom. Because they had multiple, like any esteemed manor, Draco had shared.

“Thank you, Miss Parkinson,” Tom said with an approving nod towards the woman. Theo visibly relaxed at the man’s approval of his betrothed’s less than polite tactics of quieting a room. “The next person to interrupt me will be removed by Greyback.”

Hermione shifted closer to Abraxas at the threat, pointedly not making eye contact with the now laughing wolf. For all of her hopes of an equal society, she was no idiot. Fenrir Greyback was not one to trifle with.

“Today, we learned that the cornerstone of the Minister’s appropriations bill is a muggleborn registry. The Ministry would assume guardianship of muggleborn students until they’re 17, and their muggle parents would only be given visitation over the summer. Winter and spring hols would be spent on so-called magic immersion experiences.”

The man stopped after that, knowing that an uproar would ensue. He wasn’t wrong, and only Abraxas, who’d been brought in on what happened when a tearful, angry Hermione got home, was unmoved. The man grabbed Hermione’s hand in his more-weathered one, and held it tightly. The only muggleborn present gave him a grateful smile.

“The entirety of the bill is set to be dropped on Thursday morning at the Minister’s weekly quill and quote. By that time, you all will have marching orders on your role in rejecting the entire proposal. Any questions?”

“Uh, I have one,” a visibly shook Rabastan Black-Lestrange asked, ignoring the glare from his husband next to him. “What the hell are they doing?”

Tom tried to smile at one of his most faithful and only failed slightly. He was trying to look warm, okay? That’s why he needed a woman like Hermione. To soften his edges and get the people rallying behind him on his side in trust more than fear.

“The Minister made it clear that they believe this to be the answer to any and every problem our world has had with muggleborns since their acceptance to Hogwarts. We, of course, know that not to be the case. Every person of magical inheritance plays a critical role to our economy and continued procreation… over-policing will do nothing besides drive a wedge between our people.”

“Better you drive the wedge now, my Lord!” Bellatrix Lestrange called out, receiving crows of approval. Hermione was surprised that there were around 30 people called to this meeting, the ‘inner circle,’ Abraxas had called them. The muggleborn also had a mild conniption over the fact that so many strangers would be privy to information only she knew. What if Tom’s plan backfired and she was edged out from the Ministry for being a snitch? Did she even want to be a part of a Ministry that wanted to put her on a registry like some wayward specimen?

“I’m not certain that such a direct approach is to be advised, Bella, but we will speak out against this bill. More than that, we’ll ensure every single wizard and witch under Shacklebolt’s rule knows the plot that the minister and his allies want to invoke. Wizengamot members and Ministry employees, follow me. Narcissa was kind enough to serve dessert, you’ll all wait here and enjoy her hospitality until I’ve given you your orders. Severus, follow me.”

The potions master got up to follow Tom, his black robes whipping behind him in a way that had Hermione shuddering like a first year.

“He’s still got it,” Pansy sighed, drawing an incredulous look from Hermione and nothing other than an eyerolle from Theo, Draco and Blaise.

“Snape?” Hermione whisper-yelled, not wanting anyone to overhear her. She was keenly aware of the curious looks she was receiving just by accounts of her being present.

“Don’t be daft, Hermione. The voice? The hands? The hair? The anger? He’s a freak in the sheets, I think even Theo would take him to bed one night.”

The usually aloof man shrugged. “She’s not wrong. I’ve got a bit of attraction, a bit of curiosity. I’d do him.”

“What’s wrong with you all?”

“We’re enlightened to the finer side of pleasure, dear. You’ll be like us one day,” Blaise promised with a wink.

Hermione was stopped from replying by a hand on her shoulder.

“Little Miss Malfoy, we finally meet,” a grinning Rabastan Lestrange drawled, his exhausted-looking husband behind him.

“Hello,” Hermione greeted with a nod, wishing that Abraxas hadn’t left with Tom and Professor Snape. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Rabastan let out a small laugh, “So polite. You’re on your way to being an exquisite first lady.”

Hermione looked up, “Excuse me?”

“You’ll have to excuse him, actually,” Regulus interjected with an apologetic look on his attractive face. The man was gorgeous, his coal black hair cropped unlike the unruly waves of his brother. While Sirius was striking and unique, Regulus was more of a classic beauty that had you peeking at him out of the corner of your eye. Rabastan was similarly attractive, much more so than his average-looking older brother. His cerulean eyes and golden brown hair were a complement to his husband’s looks, and Hermione couldn’t help but find them an extremely good looking duo.

“No worries, sir,” Hermione replied, shaking her head.

“None of that formality, dear. I’m Regulus and this fool is my husband, Rabastan. We’re pleased to meet the only woman who has managed to melt the ice cold shell of Abraxas.”

Hermione laughed lightly and shook her head, unable to imagine the softest man she knew as ice cold.

“It’s true!” Rabastan piped up, leaning over to whisper to the group of teenagers. “He’ll tell you I’m lying, but Yaxley pissed himself one night when we were caught stealing firewhisky from the Malfoy cellar over school hols.”

Draco snorted, immediately straightening himself up and pretending he didn’t make the undignified noise. “He’s not wrong, Hermione. Grandfather isn’t known for his sunshiny disposition.”

“Well,” Hermione shrugged. “Papa’s been nothing but loving since I met him… maybe he isn’t the problem in this equation.”

Regulus smiled, taking Hermione’s breath away. He was almost as attractive as Tom.

“I like you, dear. You’ll have to come over for dinner and bring your elf. My Kreacher is her father, he’s been anxious to meet you.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up, “Oh! How lovely! Stella hasn’t told me about her father... I’d love to meet him. Just send me an owl and we’ll be there.”

“Yes ma’am,” Regulus replied, bowing and dragging Rabastan away as he muttered about house elf loving dolts.

“So… that’s my family,” Draco muttered.

“Aren’t you all family somehow?” Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Theo and I are only fourth cousins,” Pansy replied with a smile.

“Congratulations?” Hermione replied.

“That’s something to be celebrated!” Blaise informed. “Thankfully, contributing to generations of inbreeding is not on my list of concerns.”

Snape walked back into the room, face drawn, before anyone else could reply.

“Wizengamot members and ministry employees, follow me,” Snape ordered as though he was back at Hogwarts, trusting they were walking behind him as he turned and walked back out. There was a sudden hush over the room as a majority of the crowd got up. Hermione accepted Draco’s proffered arm and was silent as she, Theo and her pseudo-nephew walked out of the room.

“Thank you, Severus,” Tom said, an amused smile on his face as the dour man led the group into the sitting room that now felt too small. “You can go now.”

“My Lord,” Snape muttered with a nod before leaving in a swirl of black fabric.

“Hermione,” Tom said with an unreadable expression on his face, waiting until she looked up at him before patting the loveseat he was sat in. She blushed slightly, keeping her eyes forward as she moved to sit next to the man. No one missed the way that their lord’s hand moved to rest on her violet acromantula silk robe covered thigh. Eyes around the room opened wide at the public display of affection that had only been whispered about, while Abraxas’ narrowed. Smartly, he kept his mouth shut from where he sat at his left side.

Tom squeezed Hermione’s thigh before he started speaking, drawing a small smile from the woman next to him. He hoped she’d still be smiling at him once the week was over.

xxxxxxxxx

Despite knowing what was going to happen, her reaction was as authentically emotional and fear-filled as Tom ordered it to be. As she stood hunched over with her hands wrapped around her stomach, the loud flash of the camera the only sound other than her sobbing that echoed in the silent Wizengamot chamber. She couldn’t help but wonder how Tom knew. How did he always know?

**Earlier that day**

_“You’re going to do fine, my dear,” Tom soothed, voice softer than Hermione had ever heard. Hermione responded to the kiss he pressed to her forehead by unashamedly wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his sternum. It only took a moment for him to hug her back, his large body giving her comfort in a moment where she needed it._

_“I know, I’m just scared,” Hermione murmured. “Everyone who doesn’t hate me is going to think I’m weak.”_

_Tom let out a short laugh, “No, no. Quite the opposite, Hermione… you’re going to bring everyone to your side. What’s greater a cause than a damsel in distress?”_

_“That makes me look weak, Tom!”_

_“You didn’t answer my question… a young, beautiful damsel that’s been cornered into distress by big, bad men much more powerful than her is a cause everyone can get behind. You’ll be beloved.”_

_“I guess we’ll see soon.”_

_“Right you are, Hermione. I believe in you… now bring everyone else to our side.”_

_Hermione looked up into Tom’s eyes, giving him a determined smile as she grabbed her speech and walked out of the room. She had a speech to bungle._

_“There there… that’s enough, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said tightly, clearly not realizing that the girl’s performance had only just begun._

_“Let the girl speak!” Rita Skeeter shouted from the press bullpen._

_“Clearly, Miss Granger is too shaken up… I can finish up her prepared remarks,” the headmaster replied loudly as he went to grab the parchment held tightly in Hermione’s hand._

_Hook, line, sinker._

_The hunched-over girl waited until she felt the older man reach to yank the parchment sheets from her hand before she let out a gasp. Her reaction was authentic, however, as he not-so-gently took her wand-turned-microphone from her hand in a brazen move that shocked even Hermione. The stumble she took backwards wasn’t faked, and an angry cry arose from the crowd of press and Wizengamot members as the slight woman fell onto the cold ground none-too-gently. It escaped no one’s notice that it took a long moment for Minister Shacklebolt to help the fallen girl off the ground._

_“This is out of line!” Rodolphus Lestrange roared from where he sat in his family’s long-held seat. “Parading a young lady out here to support your asinine plans and silencing her when it goes belly up?”_

_When Tom had asked if anyone was feeling theatrical days before, Hermione had no idea that Rodolphus was so well-suited for the task. The replies from the fellow members of the Wizengamot and press made it clear that Tom had done right choosing Rodolphus as his leading crusader._

_“Lord Lestrange, silence!” Dumbledore replied as though he were at the castle he actually held dominion over. “If you’ll only listen as Undersecretary Prewett explains the finer points of the plan, you’ll be informed before tomorrow’s vote.”_

_“I’m not listening to anything you have to say,” Abraxas replied, voice loud even without a charm as he made his way down the steps into the center of the chamber. “We’re leaving.”_

_“Of course, Lord Malfoy,” Minister Shacklebolt replied quietly, looking nervously towards his deputy minister for the first time. Tom sat in the front row, his steely, victorious glare causing a shiver to roll down the other man’s spine. What had they done?_

xxxxxxxxx

“You should’ve seen her,” a smug Abraxas bragged as he took a sip of gin. “My girl… she was perfect.”

Theo sighed, “I can’t believe we weren’t able to watch.”

“Daddy said the Prophet is putting out an emergency issue tonight,” Luna offered with bright eyes. “I’m sure it’ll be here any moment.”

“I wonder what image they’ll choose…” Abraxas mused, causing Hermione to shudder.

“I don’t even want to know,” the girl muttered to her pseudo-father’s right, running a hand through her frazzled curls.

Hermione knew that Tom wasn’t going to be there for dinner, the man having cited the maneuvering he had to do in the wake of the afternoon’s fallout. But honestly? She missed him and wished they’d had at least a moment together after papa shepherded her out of the chamber. Was Tom proud of her? Silly as it was… she ached for his praise.

“Well, we’ll know momentarily,” Draco replied in a sing-song voice as an elf walked into the room with a large stack of papers. How many copies did one manor really need? She’d once tried to explain global warming to the group to their incredulous laughter and confusion. Hopefully wizards had an escape plan for when the world started to burn.

Pansy let out a cackle after grabbing a paper from an overwhelmed elf. “This is bloody brilliant!”

Abraxas, in a way that was nowhere near befitting of his station, pushed himself from the table and walked quickly to grab a paper. “Yes! This shot… this is the photograph we needed.”

“Oh my, how awful,” Narcissa breathed, pressing a hand over her heart and leaning into Lucius’ side once the elf brought them the paper. “Hermione, my dear… let’s get you upstairs and into the bath. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

Theo and Blaise hid snickers at the photo playing on a loop, knowing just how abhorrent the photo looked to Narcissa and every other woman with a sliver of a heart in the wizarding world.

Hermione nodded obediently, “I am quite tired…”

“Don’t worry about us,” Luna said kindly as Hermione looked up with guilty eyes. The muggleborn was shocked to realize she had a friend who knew her well enough to stop her trains of thought before they started. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

The muggleborn nodded at her friend, taking her word as the truth. “Thank you… I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“And I’ll see you bright and early, girl,” Pansy replied with a smirk. “You’re not looking anything less than perfect tomorrow morning.

Hermione groaned.

“Come give papa a hug then go upstairs,” Abraxas cooed, standing up and pulling Hermione into his arms. Lucius and Draco shared a look and rolled their eyes at the man’s softness in the face of his favorite relative.

“Love you, papa,” Hermione said warmly, loving the warm way her father figure hugged her.

“I love you more,” Abraxas replied quietly, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “Have your elf call me if you need me.”

“I will,” she replied quietly, heart warming at the man’s care for her.

Narcissa, lovely, bossy woman that she was, clucked her tongue and wrapped one thin arm around Hermione. “Time to go, love.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hermione replied, the eyes of everyone following the pair until the door shut.

“Your task?” Lucius asked lightly, eyes still trained on the forever-cycling scene of Albus Dumbledore, glorified leader of the light, towering over the meek, crying girl before yanking her wand and papers from her hands with such strength that she stumbled and fell. Nothing that graced the front page of the Prophet had ever been so perfect, not even his wedding announcement to his beloved wife.

“We head to the bars and stir shit up,” Pansy smiled. “Anyone who doesn’t already know that Hermione is an angel that deserves the world on a goblin-made silver platter will know by the time they head home.”

“Do it well,” Abraxas commanded.

“Yes, grandfather,” Draco replied, taking Luna’s hand and leading the group out of the room.

Now alone in the dining room, Lucius turned to look at his father. “Now what?”

Abraxas smiled. “We make a few visits of our own and see who is heading into a Riddle Administration on good footing.”

Lucius nodded and stood up. “Veiled threats and liquor… Sounds like my kind of evening.”

xxxxxxxxx

Hermione was cursing whatever fool decided to announce the bill on a Thursday instead of a Friday. She had been holed up in her office since she’d walked into work. Thank Merlin that Abraxas Flooed to the Ministry with her, as she wasn’t sure she would’ve been able to make her way upstairs. The press had hounded her the moment she stepped in, and it looked like even the international press had come to seek quotes on a potential muggleborn registry. Nothing to stoke fear and intrigue in the masses like an extremist political stunt.

The girl had warded the door so that anyone who wanted to come in had to knock. It was now past two in the afternoon and Hermione had been visited by every single person in the wizarding world except for Tom. Where on Godric’s green earth was he? She was the one who managed his schedule; she knew he had three meetings and hadn’t received no-show notices from any of them. Why was he ignoring her?

A sudden knock on the door had her groaning and pushing the curls that Pansy had perfectly coiffed at the crack of dawn behind her right ear.

“Come in,” Hermione called as kindly as she could, flicking a hand towards the door.

“Hi…” a sheepish looking Harry Potter said as he peeked around the door like a child looking down the stairs after Santa came.

“Harry?” Hermione asked, genuinely shocked at the sight of the ex-auror trainee. “Come in.”

“Of course,” he replied, shutting the door behind himself and sitting down on the couch. He hunched over on himself, looking uncharacteristically uncertain of himself.

Hermione just looked down at her papers, unwilling to speak first for once. She could tell Harry was surprised. Good.

“I figured it’d be easier to see you here than owl you, Mione. I read the Prophet and just… wanted to see you.”

She remained quiet, hiding her grimace at the dreaded nickname.

“Are you okay, Mione?”

“Just fine, Harry.”

He exhaled, a moue on his lips. “I’m trying to make amends, Mione. Can you just give me a chance? Please?”

She felt her defenses fall at the familiar helplessness of her former friend.

“Oh, Harry. I’ve given you so many chances.”

“I’ve realized that,” he replied with a wry smile. “I’ve realized a few things over the past few months. Wish the wakeup call weren’t losing my job, but… I’ll be okay.”

“Quite. How have you been?” she asked, morbid curiosity over what he’d been up to overwhelming her desire to be cold.

“I’m good,” Harry replied. “Traveled a bit, starting to clerk for my grandfather actually. Dad reckons I can take the seat and he’ll keep working for DMLE.”

That was news to her. She swallowed her retort, knowing there was no place for a Head Auror James Potter in Tom’s administration.

“That’s wonderful, Harry. Perhaps you can get tea with Draco or Theo and get some tips.”

Harry snorted before realizing Hermione wasn’t kidding.

“Er, sure. I’ll send Malfoy an owl. Might be nice to have a friend here whose department I wasn’t fired from.”

Hermione smiled despite herself, unable to succumb to Harry’s pathetic charm. “Sounds like a plan. I’m happy for you, Harry.”

Before he could reply, Tom swept in with an exhilarated expression on his face that dropped into a blank mask at the sight of a Potter.

“Riddle,” Harry nodded, receiving a sigh from Hermione.

“Deputy Minister Riddle,” Hermione corrected with a look. “This is Harry Potter. He’s just informed me that he’ll be clerking for Lord Potter.”

“Ah, yes, another Potter. Congratulations on your new position,” Tom nodded before walking into his office and shutting the door.

“He seems… decent.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “You’re the one who called him by his last name like he’s a quidditch rival, Harry. Learn some respect before starting your work, it’ll be good for you.”

“I’ll try… hopefully I can count on you to whip me into shape.”

“Perhaps,” Hermione replied, a slightly soft look on her face that even the normally obtuse Harry didn’t miss.

“Thank you.” he nodded gratefully, standing up and waving awkwardly before walking out.

Tom opened the door a mere moment later.

“Eavesdropping?” Hermione asked, amused.

“Can’t eavesdrop in my own office, my darling,” Tom replied, pulling a surprised Hermione up into his arms.

“Tom?”

The man in question pressed kisses down Hermione’s neck, drawing a whimper from the inexperienced girl.

“Everywhere I go, your name is on people’s lips. Greengrass, Bulstrode, Smith, Finch-Fletchley, Slughorn… they can’t get enough of you.”

Hermione let out a breathy sigh as Tom lifted her onto her desk and stepped authoritatively between her parted thighs.

“You were perfect, so perfect for me.”

“Tom,” Hermione moaned as he gripped her, thumbs pulling the fabric of her fashionable dress tight against the V of her hips. He pushed them down slightly, his fingers closer to her intimate parts than anyone’s had ever been.

“Stunning,” Tom crooned, bending down to kiss her lips in a way he only had a few times before.

“Not here,” Hermione stuttered out, wiggling away from his hands and crumpling parchment as she moved across her desk. She hoped the ink was dry and not staining her bum.

“Of course,” a frustratingly unaffected Tom replied with a nod. He dropped his hands to his side, not even attempting to fix his unruffled robes. Perfect, as always. “Tonight, dinner at my home. We’ll celebrate all that is to come.”

“Okay,” Hermione replied, a shy smile on her face as the man winked in an uncharacteristically coy move.

Tonight, she thought in alarm as she sat down and got back to work. Loath to even think the phrase… she needed Pansy.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: violence (not between any named characters)
> 
> So sorry for the delay, my friends. Life has been very hectic, I hope to have time to update all of my fics over the holidays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know your thoughts - comments keep me going.

Though she was loath to admit it, Hermione knew that sometimes her booksmarts didn’t translate to street smarts. Being on her own after graduating led to a lot of nights curled up on her lumpy, stained mattress and scouring her mind for where everything went wrong. The easiest part of her quickly derailed train of thought was to blame others; it took a few weeks for her thoughts to turn to herself. Had she done something wrong, or more importantly… could she have done something right in her years at Hogwarts to better her life?

And now, as everything seems to be going veritably right in life, she has a different question to ask herself. Is there anything that’s going on in her life that she actually wants?

Dating Ron just… felt like the right thing to do. You clean your teeth when you wake up, you sign your name in the top right corner of your parchment, you date Ron Weasley from sixth year on after he asks you to Hogsmeade. 

Why would she have said no, honestly?

There was a lot of time to think about your rhythms and patterns when you worked alongside house elves who didn’t want to talk to you and you were doing anything but thinking about the clogged toilet bowl you were charming back to rights. 

It honestly made sense to date someone, statistically speaking. There were more wizards than witches in their society, sure, but factor in people who didn’t like women, or anyone sexually, for that matter, or were just plain awful and Ron wasn’t the worst choice. Far from it, actually, when all she wanted from life was some sense of simplicity and normalcy that holidays at the Burrow and Mrs. Weasley’s hugs provided.

But Tom? Tom represented everything uncertain and mysterious that she’d never come close to. Intrigue and glamor were two words that she’d never strived to have describe her life, which had the same thought constantly knocking at the front door in her brain. Is he what you want?

The man was still her boss; he was someone who she knew near to nothing about on a personal level. She knew his political stances inside and out and had a vague idea about his higher aspirations, but she didn’t know his favourite colour or what he hated when he looked in the mirror or even what his nighttime routine was. She knew how good it felt when his lips were pressed to hers and how protected she felt when he was ruining someone’s life for her sake. 

Relationships were easy to romanticize, and Tom sure as Merlin was easy to romanticize. But was reality with him as her romantic partner going to be anywhere near what she built up in her head?

Mrs. Weasley, for all of the problems that Hermione now faced from her, had sighed on many occasions before informing Hermione that marriage was hard. And Hermione had no reason to doubt the woman. But Molly was married to Arthur Weasley, a spineless marshmallow of a man. If marriage to Arthur was tough, how would it be with Tom? 

Laying in her luxurious bed in Malfoy Manor, Hermione let out a loud snort. 

Part of her current predicament solely rested on the shoulders of poor male leadership. Tom had no trusted women in his inner circle and that left them with a major blindspot… reality. Men had no idea how to factor more than ideals and goals into their equation, and that left them not understanding that Hermione may not want to be a part of their blazing crusade of a ministry coup. She forced herself to close her eyes and sleep, vowing to take a stab at remedying the problem in the morning.

xxxxxxxxx

Almost as though he were in her room, performing legilimency during the whole of her midnight panic last night, Tom stopped by Hermione’s desk after lunch with a smirk on his face.

“Would you join me for dinner tonight?”

Hermione put her quill down before pushing her chair back to stare into his captivating eyes.

“Who will be there?”

“Me,” Tom replied, smile growing. “You if I’m lucky.”

Hermione tried to not let surprise show on her face. A date.

“I’ll be there. Your place?”

Tom shook his head. “No, darling. Your place, half seven sharp. We’re going out.”

Hermione smiled back, stomach fluttering as she thought about finally getting real answers to the many questions she had for Tom.

xxxxxxxxx

“You’ll have her back before the clock strikes midnight, hm?” Abraxas asked with a Dumbledore-like twinkle in his eye.

“You’ll be lucky if you live that long, old man,” Tom replied, just as cheerily.

Hermione let out a giggle at the display in front of her, handing the gorgeous and surprising bouquet of non-conjured flowers over to a soft-smiling Narcissa.

“Goodnight, papa,” Hermione murmured, pressing a lip-glossy kiss to the older man’s cheek.

“I love you, my girl,” the man replied, pulling her into a tight hug and giving Tom the squintiest stare he could without fearing for his life. He’d gotten a claim in before the younger man, and that meant something to him. Meant something in the hierarchy of Hermione’s life, he hoped.

“I love you too,” she replied. “See you all soon, I promise I’ll be back.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Abraxas called, a soft smile on his face as Tom took Hermione in his arms before apparating outside of the manor.

Hermione noted the way that Tom didn’t let go of her as they slammed down at their locations, her heels an extremely unforgiving landing ground.

“All well?” Tom asked.

“One moment,” Hermione replied breathlessly, taking a deep breath before dusting off her light blue dress. “Ugh, you’d think that’d get easier.”

“The trick is to not think about it; the clearer your mind, the easier it is.”

“If I had the ability to think about anything but ending up with a splinched arm or broken legs, I’d be overjoyed.”

Tom let out a loud laugh.

“Where are we?”

“Dublin,” Tom smiled. 

“How did you apparate this far?” She asked, eyebrow raised disbelievingly both at the fact that he’d made it so far and not killed them in the process.

“Magi,” he replied simply. “A bit off the beaten path, but there’s a new restaurant I thought you may like.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up, “Wow! I figured we’d just eat at yours… I’ve never been to Dublin, either.”

“I think you’ll like it. Their wizarding hub is much more spacious than ours, I’m sure you’ll find yourself coming back quite often.”

They were in a quiet alley, and Hermione took Tom’s hand when he offered it.

“This alleyway employs the same magic as the Leaky Cauldron, so muggles won’t see anything but a gated block with a danger sign.”

“I’m always shocked that curious kids don’t end up in the places we don’t want them to be.”

“Very strong muggle-repellant charms applied daily by ministry workers. Not the most glamorous job, but it’s needed to prevent accidents just like that. Step up, now… careful.”

Hermione stepped into the doorway Tom had opened, dodging a stumbling couple who were headed out. She looked around with a gasp, shocked to find herself in a brightly lit pub.

“This is so much nicer than the Leaky,” she breathed, receiving a kiss on the temple for her honesty. She hid a smile, stomach fluttering at Tom’s rare affectionate gesture.

“I told you you’d like it… the Irish have a sophistication that Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade can’t quite embody, if you’ll believe it.”

“I believe it,” Hermione nodded, thinking of the homey main drags of wizarding Britain. Sure, there were fancier stores off the main pathways of both areas, but this was already head and shoulders fancier than she was used to. “Are the Irish more well off on average?”

Tom cocked his head, continuing to lead Hermione towards the door she presumed led to wizarding Dublin.

“That’s an interesting question, Hermione. We’re actually about the same, but for some reason the Irish spend more than they save and Brits save more than they spend. I would assume it has to do with the war still being fresh in many people’s minds, whereas the Irish were generally unaffected by Grindelwald’s reign.”

Hermione nodded, “That makes sense… this is gorgeous, Tom! I can’t believe I’ve never been here before. Why do Brits never come here?”

“That’s a generalized statement, darling. Don’t paint us all with the same broad, nationalistic stroke. I come here quite often, even the Malfoys do… This way.”

Hermione was enamoured by the city space’s modernness. The streets were clean, the storefronts didn’t look like they were from the dark ages, and there was electricity.

“Is that… electricity?”

Tom laughed loudly, removing his arm from the crook of Hermione’s elbow to pull her close by her waist in a move that shocked them both.

“Yes, yes it is.”

“I’m in love,” Hermione sighed.

“Here we are,” Tom said quietly, opening the door to a nondescript looking store. It didn’t pass Hermione’s notice that there was no name on the outside of the building.

“Sir, welcome back,” the elf waiting to greet them said, the pink creature was wearing a crisp black and white towel and had an odd, squeaky Irish accent. “Follow me.”

Hermione kept her face neutral as they were guided into a well-lit restaurant. Like most fancy restaurants she’d been to, the walls were lined with wood wine holders, but what separated this one was the raised wooden flooring that separated out the tables. It looked almost like… a dueling platform.

They were sat at the furthest most in ring of tables, which put them directly in front of the long side of the platform closest to the restaurant’s entry-point. There were other well-dressed couples surrounding them, including a few wizengamot members as well as a woman she knew to be Hungary’s Head of International Magical Cooperation.

“Good evening and welcome,” a shockingly low-voiced elf said, distracting grey hairs sprouting out of his ears. “May I start you with a drink?”

“I’ll have my usual,” Tom said. “They can make anything you’d like, love. Who’s the chef?”

“Tonight’s chef is Amaterasu Ito from our sister club in Japan. The menu is a traditional kaiseki dinner consisting of seafood, wagyu beef and vegetables. I recommend a cocktail with yuzu marmalade and gin for you, miss.”

“Sounds lovely, thank you,” Hermione smiled.

Hermione tried to keep her face calm, knowing that people were likely staring at them. Not because they were the most noticeable people there, solely because people who came to places like this paid for the gossip that came from… places like this.

“What is going on?” Hermione asked quietly, stomaching curling lightly in anticipation at the way Tom took her hand into his own.

“We’re enjoying a beautiful dinner in a decent city…” Tom replied with a smirk.

“Tom,” Hermione scolded, eyes narrowing. This wasn’t the time for coyness.

“Impatient tonight, are we? I’m suffering through a nine course meal for your enjoyment.”

“My… what? I didn’t ask for this!” Hermione whisper yelled. Nine courses?!

Tom let out a laugh, even though Hermione knew nothing she said was funny. What was wrong with this man?

“You’ll enjoy, darling. I promise.”

“Your drinks,” the same elf said, levitating them onto the table.

“Cheers, my dear, to us.” Tom said simply, clinking his short glass against Hermione’s elegantly stemmed one.

“To us,” Hermione repeated lowly, body heating at the way Tom hungrily tracked the way she swallowed around her delicious drink.

By the time they’d finished their third course, suimono, which the old elf informed them was the centrepiece of a kaiseki meal, the lamps in the room dimmed and the quiet conversations stopped as a beautiful redheaded woman guided a stumbling man onto the long platform.

“This isn’t the loo, sweetheart,” the Irish man slurred, his high-quality robes looking rumpled as he swayed on his feet.

Hermione looked towards Tom to see his eyes gleaming in anticipation. What was going on?

“It’s not the loo, Matthias,” the woman replied, voice low and sultry. She had wild red curls, and her ivory robes were tight against her chest and flared when they hit her hips.

“Find the loo, baby,” the man replied, throwing out terms of endearment like it was his job. Hermione couldn’t help but think about how tacky he sounded. How did a man like that find his way here?

“I don’t think I will,” she replied, shaking her head. The woman looked dangerous to Hermione, the way that she caressed the man’s wandless arm looked like a threat. Like she was toying with a meal. “Do you want to know why?”

“You into exhibitionism?” the man asked, letting out an unattractive snort.

“Because I know what you do to underage girls when you get them in the loo,” she replied, voice like a knife’s edge. There were gasps around the room, but the man seemed so caught up in his panic and inebriation that he still didn’t notice their audience. Was this some sort of acting club? Dinner and a show? 

“You…” the man replied, shaking his head. “I’ve done nothing of the sort! I’m the bloody Undersecretary for Youth Engagement!”

“Yes, you are,” the woman said, flicking a careless hand up and laughing loudly as the man screamed. Hermione had to cover her mouth as the man’s right arm fell to the floor with a resounding thump.

“Rosalia? Kitten… what,” the man moaned, backing away and hitting what looked to be a magical barrier as he tried to get off the stage. He looked around, panicking. “Help! Help!”

Tom reached under the table to grab Hermione’s thigh as she moved to stand up and help the man. Whether in comfort or warning, she did not know.

“No one’s going to help you,” the woman replied, oddly sharp teeth glinting wickedly in the lowlight of the room. “You deserve this, Matthias… Be lucky that I don’t let the parents of those girls come after you. How generous am I to end your life myself?”

“I didn’t mean it,” the man replied, continuing to run towards the barrier as though it’d break. As though he didn’t understand how magic worked. Where was his wand, anyways?

“Too little, too late,” the woman replied, before brutally killing the man in a way that had Hermione gagging. Only when he was dead did the woman take a bow before shifting in front of their eyes into a nearly golden fox with eight tails.

“What… a kitsune?” Hermione whispered to Tom.

“Indeed… an avenging kitsune,” Tom replied. 

The kitsune romped around the room in its fox form as the tables of high-level leaders who’d just seen the murder of another official applauded, finishing its rounds with Tom and Hermione. The girl could barely breathe, barely look at her food as the furry, ethereal creature rubbed against her leg. It hadn’t done that to anyone else… why her?

Tom looked at the kitsune appraisingly, but didn’t speak until it’d exited out the same door they’d entered the restaurant in, tails flouncing proudly in the air.

What the hell?

A clearly unaffected elf cleaned up the stage, disappearing the dead body parts and blood like it was just another night at the office.

During their seventh course where Tom continued to display a very disturbing ability to return to normal conversation, a pair of robed men came from the kitchen.

“Don’t worry, love, they’re just going to duel,” Tom murmured.

By the time Tom had pulled Hermione from the restaurant after a delicious and extravagant meal, she felt numb and overloaded at the same time.

“Would you like a nightcap at my place?” Tom asked as he hooked arms with Hermione.

“I would,” she replied succinctly, not feeling comfortable to speak now that they were in public once more. The crowds had thinned greatly, with all of the retail stores now dimmed out for the night.

Tom had an amused smirk that made Hermione want to either scream in his face or punch him, but she kept it together until she was being pulled out of the Floo by Tom in his Floo foyer.

“That was… what the hell, Tom!” Hermione cried, raking a hand through her tamed curls.

“Sitting room,” Tom directed, continuing forward down the long hallway until they were in a cozy room she’d never seen.

Dramatically, because she deserved it, she threw herself onto a couch.

“Master Tom! You is wanting a drink?” an elf asked as it popped in.

“Two glasses of cabernet,” Tom replied, sitting down next to Hermione and pushing her legs onto the ground as though he did it every day.

“Can you act like a person for once?”

Tom turned and raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You’re right. Excuse you, Tom! What on earth was that? Where did you take me?”

“Tell me what you saw,” Tom asked, a deflection if there ever was one.

“That’s what I’m asking!”

“You’re a smart woman, Hermione. Tell me what you saw. Stop letting your emotions take the fore… you are better than that.”

Hermione took a breath, hating the way Tom was speaking to her, but fully accepting the sentiment.

“There was… a kitsune who’d masqueraded as a woman. She… they, whatever they were, killed a man wandlessly. I didn’t even know kitsune existed… that the stories were true.”

“That’s why these club exists,” Tom replied casually, sipping his wine. “To open your mind to the greater intricacies of the world… to think that witches and wizards and goblins and elves are all there are? How narrow-minded. Did you see the way the Japanese dueling masters wielded their wands? Have you ever seen a duel so effortless? No grunting or sweating, just raw power.”

Hermione raised a brow, “I suppose you disagree with Dumbledore’s curriculum?”

Tom laughed, “Disagree is far too light a word. He deliberately waters down the education of his students to ensure they never stray too far from the norm. The first time I traveled after graduating, do you know how shocked I was to discover how much I didn’t know? That werewolves were integrated into other societies years ago without even a scarlet letter on their chest? That wandless magic was as easy for the Kenyans as using their wands? That the number of pregnant witches in China doubled after one solstice ritual? I was more than shocked… I was dismayed.”

“So what do we do?” Hermione asked, mind spinning with all of the possibilities. Werewolves? Integrated into society? An increase in the magical population after one night…

“We take control of the government and flip everything on its head, Hermione… you think me mad, you think the people will revolt?”

Hermione nodded, a bit of shame laced in the action.

“They may for a bit, but when they see that they’ll no longer need to work low-wage jobs with an increased elf population or die from Dragon Pox simply because the Ministry over regulates potions ingredients, they will come to understand. I’d love to tell you that I believe our people to be pragmatic, but they’re not; they’re simpletons who hold their hand out expecting results. We can give that to them… we can better their lives in ways that they can’t even imagine.”

“And for me, someone who’ll be seeing this from outside of the rose-coloured glasses?” Hermione asked.

“I ask the same as I have before… trust me.” Tom smiled, a predatory little expression. “Shacklebolt will be gone within the week, the Wizengamot will appoint me as interim leader…”

Hermione couldn’t help but cut in, nudging his shoulder with her own. “And you’ll never leave? An unelected leader?”

“A man of the people, a ruler that they’ll beg to stay in power. They’ll be grabbing your skirts and kissing your feet in thanks for allowing me to work to the bone on their behalf.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “They won’t know me.”

“They will, Hermione. You will be their queen, the woman they all want to be or wish to bed. Not that they’ll get anywhere close…”

“My role? It’s hardly professional.”

“You’ll announce your intent to leave Monday, unwilling to work in a Ministry that’s aided and abetted those who’ve sat by idly as you’ve suffered.”

“Sounds like a telenovela,” Hermione mumbled.

“Look at Princess Diana… the people love their fairy tales until the dark underbelly is revealed. With us, Salazar-willing, that will never happen.”

“It sounds very idealistic for you, Tom.” Hermione swallowed before speaking. “I think you require a woman’s touch in your circle of trust.”

“Oh?” he asked, looking more amused than angry. Hermione relaxed at that.

“Bellatrix would be a good choice. A bit rigid, but she’s logical.”

“I’ll consider it,” Tom replied, leaning to grab Hermione’s glass and place both of them on the table in front of them. He gently grabbed her face, turning it towards him as he placed a kiss on her lips. Hermione let out a pleased sigh that had Tom biting her bottom lip.

Their positioning was awkward, almost uncomfortable enough for Hermione to pull away before Tom plopped her on his lap. Unlike the last time they were in this position, she was straddling him, holding her weight up on her knees so that she wouldn’t land… right over his precious bits.

“Down,” Tom ordered, weaving a hand into her now-mussed curls as he pressed a deeper kiss to her open mouth and pulled her fully onto his lap.

“Oh,” she sighed, shocked by the feeling of pleasure that moved through her as the hardness beneath Tom’s trousers landed against her center. Even through her dress, she could feel a friction that had her wanting to move her hips. As though Tom could read her mind, which, to be fair, he could, he removed his right hand from her hair to yank the loose material of her dress from where it separated her bum from his center so that the only thing separating them was her knickers.

His hand didn’t move back to her hair, instead moving to knead her bum cheek in a way that had her moaning into his mouth and rubbing against him. There was nothing in her head for once, just the toe-tingling pleasure that she was discovering came with carnal pleasures. Hermione let out an unbidden giggle at the way carnal pleasure were the words that crossed her mind; would she ever just be able to be a woman, not a brain?

“Why are you laughing?” Tom asked, face thunderous as he pulled himself back against the couch and pushed her back so that she was hovering off his knees and would fall backwards with one push.

Hermione turned red. “I was… I haven’t done this before. It just hit me at once.”

Tom raised an eyebrow, looking less angry by the second. “Done what?”

She looked to the left of his shoulder, hating that this was the second time she’d had this conversation recently. Hopefully it would be better received than with Pansy and company.

“Any of this.”

Instead of asking further questions, Tom let out a feral growl, pulling Hermione back against his lips.

“Perfect girl,” he moaned into her mouth. “Sweet and innocent… all mine.”

“Yours,” she moaned back, so surprised at how right the word sounded coming from her lips that she had to repeat it. “Yours.”

Tom pulled back after a moment, pressing a gentle peck to her lips before smoothing her hair. 

“We should get you home before Abraxas comes barging in and breaks another antique.”

Hermione giggled, accepting Tom’s help as she stood up and he fixed her dress and curls back to rights. She couldn’t put a finger on the way she felt when he took care of her in such a physical way. Aroused? Comforted? Honoured? Maybe all of the above, honestly. The man didn’t let others see him as a human, most of the time, which was where she came into the equation, she assumed. But he was always keeping a possessive eye out for her, fixing her curls, ensuring she drank enough water throughout the day. Somewhere deep inside of him, Hermione knew he was a good man. 

Tonight, however ghastly it was, had Hermione slotting firmly into a position at Tom’s side, come what may.

xxxxxxxxx

“Miss Parkinson,” Tom greeted, pleased by the way the normally confident woman’s eyes darted around the room like she was scoping out any and all possible exits.

“Deputy Minister Riddle,” she replied with a curtsy that looked half-sarcastic, half-genuine before sitting down. “Thank you for having me.”

“Ah, don’t thank me before you know why you’ve been invited,” Tom replied with a smirk. “Tea?” 

“Black, please.”

“Of course,” he said, snapping his fingers as an elf brought in a full tea tray. Pansy was no fool, despite what others may think, and knew that the man was holding the meeting in his home office to test her. Test her on what, though, she did not know. 

They were silent at first, staring at each other with occlumency shields on full blast.

“What was Hermione like as a girl, Miss Parkinson?” Tom asked just as the silence was turning from purposefully awkward to hostile.

Pansy cocked her head.

“Bit of a know-it-all, awkward, socially helpless. An easy target for anyone who needed one, honestly.”

Tom clucked his tongue, and Pansy spoke again.

“She was sweet, though. A bit of an oxymoron, really, booksmart without any of the street smarts to go with it. She never would’ve made it in Slytherin, but we would’ve at least had the decency to prepare her for what came after school for her lot.”

“And now?”

“She’s blossomed under a support system. Not to talk about her as though she’s a child, but in many regards… she is. What’s common knowledge to purebloods is something she needs to soak up like a sponge at age 19, but she’s done it with grace. And I’d kill someone for her, if it came to it. She’s the best of us,” Pansy replied, placing her teacup down with a clink before staring at Tom in the petulant, yet menacing way that only a pureblood princess could.

“Know that I’d also kill for her, and be far more likely to get away with it,” Tom replied, shaking his head internally at how he was having an inadvertent pissing match over the girl with a teenager.

“Oh?” Pansy asked.

Tom had no idea how he’d allowed her to back him into a corner so quickly; this was why he didn’t get emotional… it left your flank open for a quickshot. 

“Hermione is special. She’s needed in our new world order. And… she must be surrounded by the right sort. There is no room for stumbling as we get on our feet, you understand?”

“I do,” Pansy replied seriously. “The Parkinsons and Notts are committed to serving the cause in any and every way necessary.”

“Excellent, Miss Parkinson,” Tom replied, looking far too much like the cat that caught the canary. “Let me be the first to congratulate you on becoming the first Parkinson and Nott wife in history to join the ranks of working women.”

The man let out a laugh as the girl’s eyes widened comically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you're thinking!! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL. Sorry. *Runs and hides*

“What’s this, then? A couple’s weekend plus me?” Hermione asked with a scowl.

“Astoria is still at Hogwarts. Sah, love,” Daphne shrugged. “Marcus, be a dear and grab Hermione’s bags.”

“I might need a third arm,” the bulky man replied, already carrying three suitcases and two purses that could only be Daphne’s, but he impressed them all by grabbing Hermione’s two bags as well.

“There’s my guy, knew you could do it,” Daphne smiled, receiving twin eyerolls from her partners for her efforts.

“Ready?” Luna asked brightly, bouncing on her feet.

“Everyone lay a hand on this bloody boot, now!” Draco directed, holding out an obscenely large leather boot that looked too big for Hagrid. Marcus got an elbow on right in time, otherwise he would’ve been left behind with all of their clothes.

“Finally!” Pansy scoffed, tapping her heeled foot on the ground while Theo lounged on a modern leather couch behind her with a book in hand.

“What?” Hermione asked. “I thought you two were in New York?”

“Change of plans,” Pansy shrugged.

“She was scared of missing out,” Theo called, nose not leaving the large book he was reading.

“He’s lying,” Pansy smiled. “This place is bloody brilliant, comes with elves and everything.”

“This is a magic dwelling?” Hermione asked, interested. She wasn’t sure how she’d been roped into a last minute trip to Salzburg, but now that she was officially jobless as of two days ago… a midweek trip wasn’t something she could turn down. Especially as a fan of the Sound of Music, something she’d watched on her parent’s telly many times during her lonely primary school days.

“Of course it is, Granger,” Draco snorted, sounding dignified while making the noise in a way that only he could.

“Could you not be a dick for one minute?” Pansy asked, looking extremely unimpressed.

“Sorry,” Draco replied, shoulders slumping. “You’re too easy to rib.”

“Apology accepted,” Hermione sighed, wondering why she’d agreed to attend. Narcissa had asked if she would chaperone Draco and Luna, and the girl was hard-pressed to say no to the woman. The Black had an air about her that put Hermione and everyone else into a trance, like she was a veela. Whatever it was, Hermione had found herself agreeing without truly realizing that every one of her friends was there.

“Aye mate!” Adrian smiled, Hermione turned around to see Blaise.

“Who wasn’t invited?” Hermione asked, alarmed at how out of sorts this trip had gotten. She walked up to Draco’s side, twiddling her hands together nervously. “Does papa know everyone’s here?”

“Of course grandfather knows,” Draco scoffed. “You might come away unscathed, but the man would transfigure me then stomp on me like the bug he spelled me into. Everything’s going to be fine, Granger. Okay?”

Hermione took a breath and nodded.

“Just relax, Hermione,” Luna smiled, pressing a soft hand to her shorter friend’s shoulder.

Despite the circumstances, Hermione found herself relaxing. Her friends were unlike anyone she’d ever met; their unapologetic mixture of privilege and humour left her laughing incredulously at most things they said, but unable to tell whether or not they were being serious. 

That was why Theo was her favourite, honestly; the man would shake his head minutely to let Hermione knew when she was getting her leg pulled.

After dinner that night, which was put on by the kitchen crew of Meet2eat, a highly regarded restaurant in Salzburg, Hermione could have floated away with a full stomach and wine drunk happiness without a spare thought.

“Those chips,” Marcus murmured, laying on the downy white rug in the main living room of the mansion. “Best potatoes I’ve eaten in my life.”

“Swine,” Pansy replied, disgust in every inch of her tone as she climbed onto Theo’s lap and made herself at home. “You really write home about fried potatoes after a 10,000 galleon meal?”

“A what?” Hermione gasped, sitting up from the reclining sofa she’d been relaxing in.

“It was only 10,000 after tip?” Adrian asked, shaking his head. “We should move here if that’s all high dining costs.”

“You’re all aliens,” Hermione replied with the shake of her head.

“You need to be topped off,” Daphne replied, snapping her finger and bringing a sangria-carrying elf into the room.

“Sangria is so classless, Daph,” Pansy whined before waving the elf over now that Hermione’s glass was full. “But it’s just so good.”

“How can a drink be classless?” Luna asked, sipping on a vodka lemonade.

“Wine, fruit juice and fruit? It’s a drink for underage girls who can only get their hands on a half-full bottle of cab from their family wine cellar!”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” Draco replied with a raised brow.

“Of course I am!” Pansy replied. “After my brothers, do you think my parents were stupid enough to allow us into the actual wine and liquor cellar? The idiots didn’t know the difference between pinot grigio and chardonnay, you think they knew what bottles were two hundred years old? They literally drank the bottle my grandfather had written into his will to be had at his funeral as third years. Third years!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. If that was Pansy’s most cutting childhood trauma, then the muggleborn counted her lucky.

“What are we going to play since we’re all old and taken?” Daphne asked after a few more drinks. The pretty blonde was laying on Adrian, looking completely comfortable as he fingered her shoulder strap.

“Truth or dare, just no sex,” Blaise replied immediately. “Fill your glasses, and let’s get started.”

“What even…” Hermione asked, shaking her head as she sat up and tapped her wand against the chair so it’d fold back up from its reclining position.

“What’s what, Granger?” Blaise asked.

“Truth or dare?” she asked, brow furrowed.

“Oh, no, sweetheart,” Daphne pouted, looking actually sad.

“You’ve never played?” Theo asked.

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat at being caught without knowledge.

“What’s truth or dare?” Luna asked easily, turning to look at Draco who was giving her a foot rub.

“You precious, innocent lambs,” Blaise murmured with the shake of his head. “You haven’t even lived…”

“Instead of berating us, why don’t you just count yourselves lucky that you had friends growing up?” Luna asked, sounding much more grounded and cutting than normal. Blaise looked sufficiently cowed, and Hermione shot her friend a shaky, grateful smile.

“You do now, my moon,” Draco promised reverently. “You too, auntie.”

“A bit tactless, but they’re not wrong,” Pansy shrugged. “You both are family now, which means we’ll kill and die for you. And that’s why you owe it to us to share your secrets and play truth or dare, no-sex edition.”

“Me first! Dare,” Daphne smiled.

“I dare you to tell us who’s better in the sack,” Blaise replied easily.

Daphne narrowed her eyes while both Adrian and Marcus scoffed. “That’s truth!”

“It was a dare,” he shrugged carelessly, wine glass held lightly in his long fingered grip. “Let’s go, you know what happens if you abstain.

“Can we at least use the veritaserum to make it easier?” Daphne whined.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Draco smiled, pulling out a large vial.

“Draco!” Hermione admonished, turning to stare at him with wide eyes. “Where’d you even get that?”

“What? It’s not illegal, Hermione,” Draco shrugged. “Drink up, Daph.”

“I ask again, who’s better in the sack?” Blaise said after Daphne took a sip.

“Marcus is hung like a horse, it’s not really a competition. But Adrian’s better at… everything else,” Daphne replied, kissing both her men on the cheek. “Draco, truth or dare.”

“Truth,” he replied easily.

“When’d you first notice Luna?” she asked with a knowing smirk, passing over the vial of veritaserum.

He took a quick glug. “Our second year, her first. She was playing in mud near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, it was all over her light blue skirt…”

“I wasn’t playing with mud, silly,” Luna smiled. “I was burying Venetian pixie dust around the edge of the forest to keep the acromantulas away. They would’ve attacked students otherwise, it was a sure thing if I didn’t act… thankfully I staved them off.”

Hermione even had to suppress an eyeroll at that one. Acromantulas? At Hogwarts? There was no way.

“You looked beautiful.”

“Looked like your sister,” Marcus murmured, receiving a well-deserved slap on his forearm from Daphne. Though Hermione couldn’t blame him; Draco and Luna looked a lot alike.

“I choose everyone for truth,” Draco replied. “Drink up and tell me your best and worst sexual partners.”

Luna took a sip and cocked her head, “Best, a one-thousand-year-old vampire I met in Slovenia. Worst, Ginny Weasley.”

“You’re a crazy bitch,” Pansy replied, shaking her head.

Luna passed it to Theo next, puttiner Hermione last. Had the muggleborn mentioned that she loved Luna?

“Best, Pansy. Oh, thank Merlin. Was scared that I’d blurt out something different. Worst? Draco’s cousin from France, the little bitchy blonde with the lisp and the freckle on her nose.”

Draco groaned, “Theo, she’s like… eleven years older than us.”

“So what?”

Pansy sipped next. “Best, Regulus and Rabastan. Worst, the dragon tamer Weasley. Harland? Barkley? Chaplin?”

A cacophony of shouts sounded around the room. Only Theo didn’t look surprised, instead putting a blanket over Pansy, like no one could see the hand that was visibly moving down to toy with the bottom of her dress.

“Pansy! You’ve fucked Draco’s uncles and said nothing?” Daphne asked, looking genuinely hurt. “What’s the fun in sex if you don’t share with your friends?”

“You all are sick,” Hermione groaned, running a hand through her hair.

“I don’t even know if they remember,” Pansy replied with a smirk. “This batty old elf woke me up and croaked that I was besmirching the House of Black afterwards, I’ve never apparated out so fast. My clothes were still there, so I guess they might remember.”

Blaise smirked before taking a sip. “So sorry, all. Best, Viktor Krum. Worst, Colin Creevey.”

“Krum?!” Marcus asked, eyes wide. “You… lucky.”

“Mark’s going to cry,” Daphne giggled.

“Sorry, mate.” Blaise shrugged.

“I’m more disturbed about Creevey,” Theo replied. “He’s like… five. Did you pay him?”

“Nah, mate. He had a girl he wanted to impress, asked if I’d teach him how to kiss. I tried, he was useless. Drooling everywhere when I told him to pucker his lips.”

Hermione had to hide a laugh. This crew was incorrigible.

“My turn! I don’t even know what’s going to come out of my yap, honestly,” Daphne beamed, taking another sip of veritaserum. “Best, Adrian. That’s proper sweet of me. Worst, Ron Weasley.”

The room went uncomfortably silent for a long minute before Adrian took the bottle from her.

“Best, Daph. Worst, Percy Weasley.”

“Ew!” Hermione laughed. “What is with you all and the Weasleys?”

“They’re easy,” Draco replied. “And don’t you all us, you bint. We know what you’ve done.”

He had a point, Hermione thought to herself drunkenly.

Marcus was next. “Best, Ade. Duh. Worst, Ginny Weasley.”

“You all are disgusting,” Hermione replied, shaking her head. 

“You’re up, girl,” Daphne smiled as encouragingly as she could. Hermione took a sip, already knowing what was coming and anticipating the reply. Still, her stomach sank.

“Best, Tom. Worst. Ron.”

The men looked uncertain on how to handle this information without having their balls blasted off, but Daphne and Pansy shrieked and took advantage of the girl having truth serum running through her. Luna just smiled knowingly.

“Did you lose it?” Pansy asked, eyes wide and devious.

“No! Just kissing,” Hermione replied quickly, her truth-laden mouth forcing her to speak again. “And rubbing.”

“Rubbing,” Theo replied, shaking his head wistfully. “Those were the days of innocence.”

“That’s so hot, Hermione!” Daphne sighed. “Was it hot?”

“He’s hot,” Hermione agreed, groaning and covering her face. “Have you accomplished what you want, now? I’m done!”

“No, no,” Blaise replied, shaking his head. “One more question… what will you call him when he gets you in his big green bed?”

Hermione bit a pillow, unwilling to answer out loud about her fantasies of Tom Riddle’s bed.

“Nope! I’m going to bed. Goodnight,” Hermione replied, heading upstairs at a fast pace that had her almost toppling drunkenly off the railing. She was exhausted, anyways.

“Stella?” she called. She didn’t want to be alone, but didn’t want any of her friends around. She’d had enough of them for the night. Her elf friend was all she needed.

“Oh, Miss Hermione!” the elf squealed. “What is you needing?”

“Could you help me bathe?” Hermione asked, feeling tipsy enough to ask the elf for help.

Stella’s eyes filled with wonder. “Mistress is calling Stella even when she has other elves here… It is her biggest honour!”

“How’s papa?” Hermione asked as the elf scrubbed her curls, eyes closed and feeling comfortable enough to fall asleep.

The elf made a weird noise before replying, “Stella is not seeing him.”

“Where is he?”

“Stella isn’t knowing,” the elf replied.

Strange.

“Will you tell him I love him?” Hermione asked, feeling oddly weepy. Were you even supposed to mix alcohol and veritaserum? Clearly not.

“Oh yes! Stella is telling him…”

The elf stayed until Hermione was tucked in bed and fast asleep, her curls dried and silky soft enough to pass Narcissa and Pansy’s set of standards.

The girl fell asleep, wondering how long her raucous housemates would stay awake. Whatever they did, she was glad to be away from it. She enjoyed having friends now, certainly, but everyone had their limit. Her first game of truth or dare had been hers.

xxxxxxxxx

Hermione had always been an early riser, and knew she’d probably be the first person up. Hopefully there’d be an elf making breakfast; she’d tried to sneak into the kitchen when they first got there, but the grumpy elves who came with the mansion didn’t allow her in.

Clearly, they felt no allegiance to the visitors.

Conscious of the fact that she was with some people she wasn’t quite comfortable with, Hermione got dressed in sweatpants and a loose v neck instead of going downstairs in her nightgown.

“Hi, love,” Luna smiled widely, walking out of the room she was sharing with Draco from across the hall. Perfect timing. The term of endearment struck Hermione as off, but she was tired enough, thankfully not hungover, to let it slide.

“Luna,” Hermione smiled. “Sleep well?”

“As well as one does when they’re in love and on a dream trip,” Luna replied.

Blech.

“Quite,” Hermione replied. What answer did one have to such an honest omission?

“I smell food,” Luna replied, taking a large breath. “Do you need a hangover potion?”

“No, I’m fine,” Hermione replied. “I took a bath last night and that helped.”

“Good, good.”

The pair sat down at the long dark wooden table where elves were already serving up large trays of food.

“Could I have some tea, please?” Hermione asked, digging into a plate of fruit and yogurt immediately.

By the time she’d finished eating, Theo and Adrian had come down.

“Oh, excuse me? Could I have the paper?” Hermione asked the elf who was pouring drinks.

“No paper here, miss,” the elf replied, looking nervous.

“Really?” she replied, shocked.

“Sorry, miss,” the elf replied, pulling a floppy ear harshly.

“Please don’t hurt yourself, it’s okay,” Hermione replied. “Stella.”

The elf popped in immediately, eyes filled with tears as though she knew what Hermione was going to ask.

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked, turning to look at Theo accusingly.

“Why are you looking at me?” he asked evenly.

“Why is no one giving me the paper?”

“It’s a week meant for relaxation, Hermione. You just left your job, you have no business reading the paper.”

“You’re not my father!” Hermione replied, face heating up as she tried to deal with the incredulity of the situation. Next thing she knew, her wand had slipped from her grip and flew up into the air. When had she picked up her wand?

“Sit the hell down, Granger,” Pansy’s voice sounded. Hermione looked up to see her looking over the railing, two wands in her hand. “Elf, you can go.”

Stella popped out gratefully; since when did the elf listen to Pansy?

Hermione sat down, the rage that’d quickly filled her up at Theo trying to lord over her leaving by the time Pansy was sitting down across from her.

“No one’s reading the bloody paper. We’re going to go on a bleeding hike in these quaint tennis shoes I bought at a podunk muggle store to see the place from the film Luna likes. Then we are going to sit on a soft blanket and eat food from a wicker basket and drink champagne while Luna hunts for a nonexistent yeti. Okay?”

“Okay,” Hermione muttered, trying to rein in her temper that too often got the best of her. It was hard to be calm when Pansy was such a bitch, though. Pansy laughed when she said as much.

“Just my job, Granger,” Pansy replied, looking Hermione in the eyes.

“Isn’t it Malfoy?” Marcus asked, walking down the stairs with a half asleep Daphne hanging on his back.

“She’s always going to be Granger,” Pansy replied as though that settled things.

By the way Theo and even Luna nodded, Hermione was pretty sure it did settle it for them.

xxxxxxxxx

“Are there any songs that all magical people know?” Hermione asked, letting out a sigh as she stared out across the gorgeous, rolling German Alps. 

“What do you mean?” Daphne asked, opening her mouth for a red grape that was held between Marcus’ beefy fingers.

“Like… if you were at the Leaky and a song came on that every single person knew the words to. What would it be?”

“Well, one, we wouldn’t go to the Leaky,” Draco smirked, drawing nods from everyone but Luna, who was off by herself plucking flowers into a basket. She had a wooden bell of sorts that she was clanging every now and then, trying to attract a yeti.

“Not the point, Draco,” Hermione replied, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not sure we have one,” Marcus replied. “Quidditch fans know the chants of their teams, but other than that… there’s nothing.”

“God Save the Queen?” Hermione asked, not shocked at the blank stares she received. “Maybe one day there will be a wizarding anthem... muggle music is nice, you know. Say what you want about them, but you’d like their music.”

“Sure, Granger,” Blaise replied, sounding highly doubtful.

Hermione hadn’t spent much time lazing about before. Even on the weekends at Hogwarts, she got out of her claustrophobic dorm with roommates who wanted nothing to do with her and headed to the library. 

But here? In the hills of Austria? She felt content to just close her eyes and breathe in the fresh air, uncaring of her friends sharing affection or going off on their own.

“We can come back tomorrow,” Draco promised Luna, face softer than Hermione had ever seen. She let out a giggle, thinking of how Harry had always called him the pointiest person he’d ever seen. How wrong he’d be proven now, seeing the way Draco Malfoy’s face melted into something attractive now that he was hopelessly in love.

“Where’d everyone else go?” Hermione asked as she folded up the blanket a while later. She’d fallen asleep at some point, though she didn’t remember getting tired. Perhaps it was after Theo offered her a second glass of champagne?

Draco shrunk the blanket and put it in his pocket, looking around to ensure everything else was already cleaned up.

“Back to the manor for a kip,” Draco replied easily, taking Luna’s hand into his own.

“Could’ve slept out here like me,” Hermione shrugged.

“You missed the most lovely family of butterflies,” Luna smiled.

“Are there magical butterflies?” Hermione asked.

“No,” Luna replied, shaking her head. “They were still beautiful.”

Hermione smiled back at her friend, grateful to have her here in a life that now felt so abnormal. For someone as logical as herself, it felt a bit absurd to watch the progression of her life from muggleborn ward of Hogwarts to a Malfoy. It didn’t make much sense, but it was her life.

The trio walked through Salzburg, and Hermione was happy to stop in little stores and buy trinkets to bring home to Narcissa and her papa. She was on the lookout for something that Tom wouldn’t find silly, but found herself truly thinking that though over… is there any gift that Tom would like that didn’t directly benefit him? Probably not.

“You can leave,” Hermione said to Draco, drawing a soft smile that had ‘you’re an idiot’ written all over it. “Yes? Do you have a problem?”

“I’m not leaving you two alone in a foreign country,” Draco replied with an eye roll.

“Sweet boy,” Luna replied with a nod, dragging Hermione into the small antiques shop that was unoccupied outside of the owner. It was exactly the type of place Hermione expected to find something magical.

“Powerful,” the old, wrinkly man at the cashier stand said. “Very powerful….”

He handed a vial of what seemed to be water over to Luna, which she took with a solemn nod as though she knew exactly what it was.

“Melted ice, from Eisriesenwelt, before trafficked by tourists,” the man explained.

“Thank you, sir,” Luna replied. “You wouldn’t happen to have…”

The man cut her off, holding a decrepit cardboard box up towards her. “My late wife, she said I would know when…”

Hermione was confused at the way Luna’s eyes lit up.

“This is far too much, sir. You don’t want to keep any for yourself?”

“I have no use, no powers… do good, take it and do good.”

Luna smiled, bowing at the man like he was a foreign dignitary.

“Draco, love,” Luna called, bringing the man over to them. His wand was obviously held in his hand, and it took everything in Hermione not to reprimand him.

She reached a sly hand into his trouser pocket, pulling a large wad of bills out of the leather wallet he was carrying around the muggle city.

“Too much, too much!” the old man replied.

“It’s yours,” Luna replied. “Magic will bless you and those you love, sir. Keep an eye on your granddaughter, she’ll be 11 soon.”

“My Hilde,” the man replied, eyes bulging wide, proud.

“Send her to Hogwarts,” Luna replied, flipping the bird to the Statute of Secrecy before walking out of the store. 

“What was that?” Hermione asked.

“There’s magic everywhere,” Luna replied. “Don’t you know, the hills are alive?”

xxxxxxxxx

The sweetness and mystery of the moment died as soon as they got back to the mansion.

“Where have you been?” Pansy shrieked, eyes wide.

“Shopping,” Hermione replied, confused.

“You were supposed to be back an hour ago!” the girl replied, stomping up to Draco and slapping her chest. Not even Luna attempted to stop her.

“We got sidetracked, it’s fine,” Draco replied easily.

“It’s not,” Pansy replied, shaking her head.

Theo skid into the room on socked feet in a way that wouldn’t look out of place in a sitcom opening.

“Oh, thank fuck.” Theo sighed, before turning and walking right back out of the room.

Hermione walked further into the manor, unwilling to be a part of whatever cat fight Pansy was trying to start with the newly-arrived trio.

“You can go, we’re fine,” she heard Theo say. For better or for worse, the manor was airy and voices echoed. In this case, when things felt weird, Hermione was grateful for it and moved quickly towards the noise.

She walked into a sitting room to see Theo, Blaise, Daphne, Marcus and Adrian speaking with Corban Yaxley, Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, and Regulus Black. They all looked far more serious than she’d seen.

“What… when did you get here? Hermione asked. “Is everything all right?”

“Hi dear,” Bellatrix smiled, moving to press kisses on Hermione’s cheeks like they were meeting for tea. “Your friends thought you’d gone missing when you didn’t return on time.”

“And called the head of DMLE and members of the Wizengamot?” she asked slowly, noticing how her friends averted their eyes.

“You’re family, love,” Bellatrix replied sweetly. Too sweetly, in the same way she knew Narcissa to do when she wanted to get out of something that Lucius was holding her to.

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked.

“We have to go,” Yaxley replied, looking as unaffected as ever.

“Enjoy your little trip, kiddies,” Rodolphus said with the tip of his head.

“Hermione, good to see you,” Regulus spoke up, stepping into the fire first and calling out the Ministry with his wand held tightly in hand. Everyone else did the same.

Once they were all gone, Hermione looked back to see that a slightly nervous looking Draco and Luna had entered the sitting room that now felt much too small with all of them together.

“What’s going on?” Hermione repeated.

“We thought you lot had been eaten by a yeti or some shit,” Blaise replied. “Can we eat dinner now?”

“Are we still going to the place with Bosna?” Marcus asked, drawing an audible groan.

“No, idiot, we’re getting pizzas delivered,” Theo replied impatiently.

“Pizza?” Hermione asked with a frown. “Why?”

“Most people haven’t tried it, thought it could be fun,” Theo shrugged.

“I’d like to go out for dinner,” Hermione replied. She was normally one to go with the flow, but on her first trip to Austria, she was going to enjoy the city. 

Hermione did an about face, leaving the stifling atmosphere of the office to get dressed.

She didn’t call Stella this time, though her curls were atrocious. That’s what ponytails were for, though, right? Taking the time to breathe and decompress after 24 hours spent with people who depleted her energy reserves, Hermione got dressed and ready for a nice dinner out. Now that it wasn’t the full group going, she felt less bad suggesting one of the higher-end restaurants with authentic Austrian food that she’d walked by during their trip out today.

Hermione headed downstairs when she realized no one was getting ready in the rooms after she knocked. Was she really the last one ready?

No, she discovered. No one else was dressed.

“Really? No one’s going with me?” Hermione asked, crossing her arms over her chest and trying not to get cross.

“We’re tired,” Daphne pouted, lying across both of her betrothed’s laps as though to prove her point. Everyone else nodded.

Hermione lost it.

“I’ll go by myself,” she replied tightly, tucking her wand into the hidden pocket of her slinky green dress. “I’m glad all of you are having fun here, I hope you enjoy your night doing exactly what you’d do if you were back in bloody England!”

She made to storm out, only to have her arm grabbed gently by Pansy, who looked far more serious than Hermione had ever seen.

“Hermione,” Pansy said slowly. “You can’t leave.”

“Why not?”

“You just can’t,” Pansy replied. “Can you please trust us?”

Hermione weighed her options mentally. Did she lose her shit in hopes that someone would tell her what was going on or did she just ask what on earth was gong on and trust that they’d tell her?

Trying to be mature, she took the second round. The girl sat down primly and simply asked.

“What is going on? I’m trying to keep a cool head, but I seem to be left out of whatever is going on.”

They all looked to Pansy, who was clearly the ringleader of whatever charade was ongoing.

“Shacklebolt lost it after the muggleborn bill went to shit and his approval plummeted. He... he went to Hogwarts and killed Dumbledore… the wards at the castle are down. The Ministry has fallen. Tom is attempting to seize control of the government from him and restore order. No one is safe.”

And like that, Hermione thought, another piece of Tom's perfectly constructed puzzle had been slotted in neatly while she sat on the sidelines, completely unaware.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr at thiscitychickk.tumblr.com - asks are open, I'd love to talk this fic and I'm also accepting prompts!


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